Roger slowed up as the car passed the gates which guarded the entrance to the drive.
"That's Trenby Hall," he said.

And Nan was conscious of an impishly amused feeling that just so might Noah, when the Flood began, have announced: "That's my Ark.'" "You've never been over yet," continued Roger.

"But I want you to come one day.

I should like you to meet my mother." A queer little dart of fear shot through her as he spoke.
She felt as though she were being gradually hemmed in.
"It looks a beautiful place," she answered conventionally, though inwardly thinking how she would loathe to live in a solid, square mansion of that type, prosaically dull and shut away from the world by enclosing woods.
Roger looked pleased.
"Yes, it's a fine old place," he said.

"Now for the kennels." Nan breathed a sigh of relief.