” An immense gulf seemed to open between father and daughter as he said these words. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. 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. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. She had not seen him in two and a half centuries. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Master, your humble servant.
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