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. In one grave, mind. But what affair is this of yours?’ But Captain Roding was not attending. ‘I see that Leonardo was right. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. The man was mad to marry me. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin.
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