It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. 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. " "Hoddy," she repeated.
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