Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. I have said good-bye to it all. 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. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. “I shall never be able to thank you. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Perhaps marriage hurt. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards.
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