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. The whole was then fired, and in a few minutes the room was a blaze. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Take a room!” “I say!” said Constance. 150 “Homely. He had let go his name so easily as that! What was the name she had given? Ruth something; he could not remember. But that possibility had been anticipated. “Let me help you,” he begged. Mr.
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