At the back, beside the
garage, they could look over a small but healthy hedge to more
beach, clustered with unusual shells at low tide, and the
straggling outskirts of the village. From the front, they looked
straight down a wide tree-shaded street, that lost itself in a
peaceful vista of great trees and vine-smothered stone walls.
"Holly Court" was quiet, it was naturally isolated, it seemed to
Nancy already like home.
Even now, however, Mr. Rogers would not talk terms. He drove them
about again, passing other houses, all happily and prosperously
occupied. He told Nancy about this family and that.
"What'd that house cost?" Bert would demand.
"Ah well, THAT. That belongs to Ingram, of the Ingram Thorn Coal
people, you know. I suppose Mr. Ingram has invested forty or fifty
thousand dollars in that place, in one way and another. The tennis
court--"
And so on and on. Presently they passed the pretty, unpretentious
club-house, built close to the water. A few light sails were
dipping and shaking on the bay, children were gathered in a little
knot beside an upturned canoe, on the shore. Several cars were
parked on the drive outside the club, and Nancy felt decidedly
self-conscious as she and Bert and the children walked onto the
awninged porch that was the tea room.
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