‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. 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. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. It is better as it is. “Come to my rooms and have a drink.
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