"Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. 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. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. Each human contact leaves some indelible mark. "Go and take your plunge while I attend to breakfast. Nor can we.
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