My disappointment was so bitter that I laughed at myself . I thought I was a fool to feel thus about a girl I had met for a moment in a chance ramble -- a mere child at that , with her hair still hanging in its long glossy schoolgirl braid . But when I remembered her eyes , my wisdom forgave me . Well , that was ten years ago ; in those ten years the memory had , I must confess , grown dimmer . In our busy western life a man had not much time for sentimental recollections . Yet I had never been able to care for another woman . I wanted to ; I wanted to marry and settle down . I had come to the time of life when a man wearies of drifting and begins to hanker for a calm anchorage in some snug haven of his own . But , somehow , I shirked the matter . It seemed rather easier to let things slide . At this stage Peter came west . He was something in a bank , and was as round and jolly as ever ; but he had evidently changed his attitude towards girls , for his rooms were full of their photos . They were stuck around everywhere and they were all pretty . Either Peter had excellent taste , or the Croyden photographers knew how to flatter . But there was one on the mantel which attracted my attention especially . If the photo were to be trusted the girl was quite the prettiest I had ever seen . `` Peter , what pretty girl 's picture is this on your mantel ? '' I called out to Peter , who was in his bedroom , donning evening dress for some function . `` That 's my cousin , Marian Lindsay , '' he answered . `` She is rather nice-looking , is n't she .
Lives in Croyden now -- used to live up the river XXXXX Chiselhurst .
In about around as at of on to towards with