There are two ways to go in, you understand. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. For a few minutes all was silent. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. “She”, you say. 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. "Her ladyship—" faltered the attendant. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs.
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