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Illustrations

Marjolaine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece

Jim—a very active old sailor in spite of his stiff leg

She spent at least one hour with him every day, listening, as she told the sympathising Walk, to her dead lover's voice

"That's right, Brooke! Do your duty, and —— the consequences!"

The Reverend Jacob Sternroyd, D.D.

Caroline Thring

Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn at his ease

"Let us sit quite still and think hard whether we'd like to meet again"

"She placed her arm very tenderly over her shoulders and gently called her by name"

"It's enough to give a body the fantoddles—as my poor dear mother used to say"

He started off like an alarm clock

He seized him by the sleeve, and dragged him, bewildered and protesting, to the Gazebo

As the sun came out, out came Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn, as resplendent as the sun

The Eyesore seized the animal by the scruff of his neck and hurled him into the river

Then he resumed. "Brooke," says he, "Brooke, my Boy"—just like that

"Peter!" he cried, scandalised

CHAPTER I

CONCERNING THE WALK IN GENERAL

Chapter I headpiece

It lies out Chiswick way, not far from Horace Walpole's house where later Miss Pinkerton conducted her Academy for Young Ladies. It is still there, although it was actually built in 1710; but London has gradually stretched its tentacles towards it, and they will soon absorb it. Where Marjolaine and Jack made love, there will be a row of blatant shops, and Sir Peter's house will be replaced by a flaring gin-palace. It has fallen from its high estate nowadays; and Mrs. Poskett's prophecy has come true: one of its dainty houses—I think it is the one in which the Misses Pennymint lived—is now indeed occupied by a person who earns a precarious living with a mangle.

Even in the days I am writing about, it was old—ninety-five years old—and had seen many ups and downs; for I am writing of events that took place in 1805: the year of Trafalgar; the year of Nelson's death.

At that time it was a charming, quaint little crescent of six very small red-brick houses, close to the Thames, facing due south, and with a beautiful view across the river.

Why it was called Pomander Walk is more than I can tell you. There is a tradition that the builder had inherited a beautiful gold pomander of Venetian filigree and that the word struck him as being pretty and having an old-world flavour about it. It certainly conferred a sort of quiet dignity on the crescent; almost too much dignity, indeed, at first, for it seemed to make the letting of the houses difficult. Common people fought shy of it, because of the name, yet the houses were so small that wealthy folk—the Quality—wouldn't look at them. Ultimately, however, they were occupied by gentlefolk in reduced circumstances; people who had an eye for the picturesque, people who sought retirement; and the owner was happy.

In 1805 it had grown mellow with age. The red bricks of which it was built had lost the crudeness of their original colour and had acquired a