"Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. Earles drew out his cheque book. If I did not love you so much I believe I could win you by sheer force of character, for people tell me I am naturally of the dominating type. Sheppard. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. Folks don’t like ’em.
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