“Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. It was wonderful. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience. “Close your eyes. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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