Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. The hansom drove off. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. But I'll never part with your irons. 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.
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