He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. For a few minutes all was silent. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet.
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