Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. Brendon was silent. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. It was impossible. 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.
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