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. " "Are you ready?" said Trenchard, striding towards the door. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. ‘Did you see the man?’ Gerald asked. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. ’ Gerald’s jaw tightened. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. Gerald frowned. I could not become an Oracle. Come along home, Ruth.
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