“Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. He must be a sly fox to get out of the Mint without my knowledge. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed. . I don’t half disagree with you, Vee, really; only thing is, I don’t see how you’re going to pull it off.
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