Torquay, leap the Dart on a tubular bridge at Dartmouth, and rush past Kingsbridge to find a terminus at Bigbury, the climatic resort of the future. Then, your Grace——'
‘My dear Worthivale, I shall not live to see the first stone of the new town laid, nor the first sod of the new line turned.’
‘But, your Grace, what a comfort to think of the future, the reflorescence of this splendid house! I, also, may not see it, but I live in faith. Your grandchildren——
‘Dear Worthivale,’ said the Marquess, ‘I am sorry to dash your dream, but I shall never marry.’
‘Nor I,’ said Lady Grace, in a low tone.
‘So the race will die with us. Quod antiquatur et senescit—prope interitum est.’