‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. 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. "Mercy on us! what have I said!" cried the attendant, greatly alarmed by the agitation of her mistress; "do sit down, your ladyship, while I run for the ratifia and rosa solis. No, never mind about thanking me. Anyway, I only smoke occasionally. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them.
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