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"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. "Another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. " "I should like to satisfy myself on that score," rejoined Wild, drily. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. 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. Thus, in a few minutes, had this happy family been plunged into the depths of misery.
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