Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested. His voice now had lost its ironies.
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