They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. Stay! I'll go myself. 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. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist.
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