"You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. “Men’s waists are neither here nor there; A man scores always, everywhere. ” “If you tempt me too much,” she said, after a silence, “I shall do it. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford.
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