“Oh,” said Honora, “I hope she will let me go through it.”
“I'm sure she will want to take you there to-morrow,” answered Susan, and she smiled.
The road wound upwards, by the valley of a brook, through the hills, now wooded, now spread with pastures that shone golden green in the evening light, the herds gathering at the gate-bars. Presently they came to a gothic-looking stone building, with a mediaeval bridge thrown across the stream in front of it, and massive gates flung open. As they passed, Honora had a glimpse of a blue driveway under the arch of the forest. An elderly woman looked out at them through the open half of a leaded lattice.
“That's the Chamberlin estate,” Susan volunteered. “Mr. Chamberlin has built a castle on the top of that hill.”
Honora caught her breath.
“Are many of the places here like that?” she asked. Susan laughed.
“Some people don't think the place is very—appropriate,” she contented herself with replying.
A little later, as they climbed higher, other houses could be discerned dotted about the country-side, nearly all of them varied expressions of the passion for a new architecture which seemed to possess the rich. Most of them were in conspicuous positions, and surrounded by wide acres. Each, to Honora, was an inspiration.
“I had no idea there were so many people here,” she said.
“I'm afraid Sutton is becoming fashionable,” answered Susan.