'—'They can't,' says I. ’ He sat looking her over in silence for a moment or two, his thoughts revolving around the name and the way it fitted so exquisitely on quite another set of features. 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. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. ‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding.
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