She laughed shortly.

“You will cut down those hedges and drive away the birds to find a fresh home; you will plough up the green grass, cut out a street and lay down granite stones.  Then I see your ugly little houses coming up like mushrooms all over the place.  You are a vandal, my dear Leonard.”

“I am simply obeying the law,” he answered.  “After all, even from your own point of view, I do not think that it is so bad.  Look closer, and you will find that the hedges are blackened here and there with smuts.  The birds will find a better dwelling place further away.  See how the smoke from those factory chimneys is sending its smuts across these fields.  They are no longer country; they are better gathered in.”

She shivered.

“There is something about life,” she said, sadly, “which terrifies me.  Every force that counts seems to be destructive.”

Up the steep hill behind them came the puffing and groaning of a small motor-car.  They both turned their heads to watch it come into view.  It was an insignificant affair of an almost extinct pattern, a single cylinder machine with a round tonneau back.  The engine was knocking badly as the driver brought it to a standstill a few yards away from them.  Involuntarily Tavernake stiffened as he saw the two men who descended from it, and who were already passing through the gate close to where they were.  One was Mr. Dowling, the other the manager of the bank where they kept their account.  Mr. Dowling recognized his manager with surprise but much cordiality.

“Dear me!” he exclaimed.  “Dear me, this is most fortunate!  You know Mr. Tavernake, of course, Belton?  My manager, Mr. Tavernake —­Mr. Belton, of the London & Westminster Bank.  I have brought Mr. Belton up here, Tavernake, to have a look round, so that he may know what we mean to do with all the money we shall have to come and borrow, eh?”

The bank manager smiled.

“It is a very fine situation,” he remarked.

The eyes of the two men fell upon Beatrice, who had drawn a little to one side.

“May we have the pleasure, Tavernake?  “Mr. Dowling said, graciously.  “You are not married, I believe?”

“No, this is my sister,” Tavernake answered, slowly,—­“Mr. Belton and Mr. Dowling.”

The two men acknowledged the salute with some slight surprise.  Beatrice, although her clothes were simple, had always the air of belonging to a different world.

“Your brother, my dear Miss Tavernake,” Mr. Dowling declared, “is a perfect genius at discovering these desirable sites.  This one I honestly consider to be the find of our lifetime.  We have now,” he proceeded, turning to Mr. Belton, “certain information that the cars will run to whatever point we desire in this vicinity, and the Metropolitan Railway has also arranged for an extension of its system.  To-morrow I propose,” Mr. Dowling continued, holding the sides of his coat and assuming a somewhat pompous manner, “to make an offer for the whole of this site.  It will involve a very large sum of money indeed, but I am convinced that it will be a remunerative speculation.”