ABSTRACT
A long drive, tree-shadowed, swept from the Epsom-road 11 up to the ancient elms in the midst of which stood The Hatch. The house was built of stone, showing grey where the walls escaped from the lichen and ivy which enfolded them. Even the diamond-paned windows were hidden by the green that had conquered the masonry and now assailed the roof. Under the trees the grass was short, and broken here and there by flower beds given over to the luxuriance of roses and vines returning to their primitive growths.
