“You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband.
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