But the sheer immensity of the tract! James Boyle was certainly up against it, hard. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. 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. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland.
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