We are out in the country, near Lady Warwick's estate, and H. G. tells me how the beautiful place is going to seed; that parts of it are being divided into lots and sold.
The estate, with its live stock, is a show place. It is breeding time for the deer and from the road we can hear the stags bellowing. H. G. tells me they are dangerous at this time of the year.
At the gate of the Wells' estate a young lad of ten greets us with a jovial twinkling of the eye and a brisk manner. There is no mistaking him. He is H. G.'s son. There is the same moulding of the structure and the same rounded face and eyes. H. G. must have looked that way at his age.
"Hello, dad," as he jumps on the running board.
"This is Charlie," H. G. introduces me.
He takes my grip. "How do?" and I notice what a fine boy he is.
Mrs. Wells is a charming little lady with keen, soft eyes that are always smiling and apparently searching and seeking something. A real gentlewoman, soft voiced, also with humorous lines playing around her mouth.
Everyone seems busy taking me into the house, and once there H. G. takes me all over it, to my room, the dining-room, the sitting-room and, an extra privilege, to his study. "My workshop," he calls it.
"Here's where the great events in the history of the world took place?"
He smiles and says "yes." The "Outline of History" was born here.