Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. Then he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence.
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