If only monsieur le baron had said nothing, or perhaps instead accepted the couple as the Valades and agreed to help them. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. Mr. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. Only she hadn’t.
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