“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Now what I want you to feel is this. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. For that such a man does not mind about the dowry, he must be in love en désespoir.
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