There was a crunch of wheels; the brougham rolled away.
The Hon.

Geoffrey Winlow raised his face again.
"Who was that, Benson ?" The coachman leaned over confidentially, holding his podgy white-gloved hand outspread on a level with the Hon.

Geoffrey's hat.
"Mrs.Jaspar Bellew, sir.

Captain Bellew's lady, of the Firs." "But I thought they weren't---" "No, sir; they're not, sir." "Ah!" A calm rarefied voice was heard from the door of the omnibus: "Now, Geoff!" The Hon.

Geoffrey Winlow followed his wife, Mr.Foxleigh, and General Pendyce into the omnibus, and again Mrs.Winlow's voice was heard: "Oh, do you mind my maid?
Get in, Tookson!" Mr.Horace Pendyce's mansion, white and long and low, standing well within its acres, had come into the possession of his great-great-great-grandfather through an alliance with the last of the Worsteds.