"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. And the age gets higher. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. It always comes out sooner or later. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. And it’s gorgeous!” “Glorious!” said Ann Veronica. And the change, the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown aside is amazing. That she was provoked by his interference was obvious.
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