But you're on the Far End estate now--this is a private road," replied the man disagreeably.

"You'll please to take yourself off." A faint flush of indignation crept up under the warm pallor of Sara's skin.

Then, a sudden thought striking her, she asked-- "Who is that playing the violin ?" Mentally she envisioned a pair of sensitive, virile hands, lean and brown, with the short, well-kept nails that any violinist needs must have--the contradictory hands which had aroused her interest on the journey to Monkshaven.
"I don't hear no one playing," replied the man stolidly.

She felt certain he was lying, but he gave her no opportunity for further interrogation, for he continued briskly-- "Come now, miss, please to move off from here.

Trespassers aren't allowed." Sara spoke with a quiet air of dignity.
"Certainly I'll go," she said.