the proper method of making roads.  Beginning with the Greeks, who had, he said, many difficulties to contend with, he continued with the Romans, passed to England and the right method, which speedily became the wrong method, and wound up with such a fury of denunciation directed against the road-makers of the present day in general, and the road-makers of Richmond Park in particular, where Mr. Pepper had the habit of cycling every morning before breakfast, that the spoons fairly jingled against the coffee cups, and the insides of at least four rolls mounted in a heap beside Mr. Pepper’s plate.

“Pebbles!” he concluded, viciously dropping another bread pellet upon the heap.  “The roads of England are mended with pebbles!  ’With the first heavy rainfall,’ I’ve told ’em, ‘your road will be a swamp.’  Again and again my words have proved true.  But d’you suppose they listen to me when I tell ’em so, when I point out the consequences, the consequences to the public purse, when I recommend ’em to read Coryphaeus?  No, Mrs. Ambrose, you will form no just opinion of the stupidity of mankind until you have sat upon a Borough Council!” The little man fixed her with a glance of ferocious energy.

“I have had servants,” said Mrs. Ambrose, concentrating her gaze.  “At this moment I have a nurse.  She’s a good woman as they go, but she’s determined to make my children pray.  So far, owing to great care on my part, they think of God as a kind of walrus; but now that my back’s turned—­Ridley,” she demanded, swinging round upon her husband, “what shall we do if we find them saying the Lord’s Prayer when we get home again?”

Ridley made the sound which is represented by “Tush.”  But Willoughby, whose discomfort as he listened was manifested by a slight movement rocking of his body, said awkwardly, “Oh, surely, Helen, a little religion hurts nobody.”

“I would rather my children told lies,” she replied, and while Willoughby was reflecting that his sister-in-law was even more eccentric than he remembered, pushed her chair back and swept upstairs.  In a second they heard her calling back, “Oh, look!  We’re out at sea!”

They followed her on to the deck.  All the smoke and the houses had disappeared, and the ship was out in a wide space of sea very fresh and clear though pale in the early light.  They had left London sitting on its mud.  A very thin line of shadow tapered on the horizon, scarcely thick enough to stand the burden of Paris, which nevertheless rested upon it.  They were free of roads, free of mankind, and the same exhilaration at their freedom ran through them all.  The ship was making her way steadily through small waves which slapped her and then fizzled like effervescing water, leaving a little border of bubbles and foam on either side.  The colourless October sky above was thinly clouded as if by the trail of wood-fire smoke, and the air was wonderfully salt and brisk.  Indeed it was too cold to stand still.  Mrs. Ambrose drew her arm within her husband’s, and as they moved off it could be seen from the way in which her sloping cheek turned up to his that she had something private to communicate.  They went a few paces and Rachel saw them kiss.