He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ‘Move, you. Jack's life hangs on your determination. 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. ’ Lucilla burst into laughter and clapped her hands. Montressor’s guests were. She was never announced as ‘Alcide,’ but directly she walked on she simply became ‘Alcide’ to every one. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me.
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