Americans -- England -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
The High Street and the esplanade constitute the new Norton-on-Sea which
has sprung into being within the last ten years, but the real, original,
aristocratic Norton lies a couple of miles inland, and consists of a
wide, sloping street, lined with alternate shops and houses, branching
off from which are a number of sleepy roads, in which detached and semi-
detached villas hide themselves behind trees and hedges, and barricade
their windows with stiff, white curtains. The one great longing
actuating the Norton householder seems to be to see nothing, and to be
seen by none. "Is the house overlooked?" they ask the agent anxiously
on the occasion of the first application. "Does it overlook any other
house?"
"There _is_ another house across the road, madam!" the agent is
sometimes regretfully obliged to admit, "but it has been very cleverly
planted out."
So it has! by means of a fir or an elm planted within a few yards of the
windows, and blocking out something more important than another villa,
but the Norton resident desires privacy above all things. The sun and
the air have to creep in as best they may.
The more aristocratic the position of a family, the more secluded
becomes their position. Fences are raised by an arrangement of lattice-
work on the top of boards; shrubs are planted thickly inside the hedges;
even the railings of the gates are backed by discreetly concealing
boards. If there happens to be a rise in the road from which a passer-
by can catch a glimpse of white figures darting to and fro on the tennis
courts, the owner promptly throws up a bank, and plants on the top one
or two quickly growing limes. It is so disagreeable to be overlooked!
At the date at which this history opens, there were several large places
in the neighbourhood of Norton, foremost among them were the Manor
House, occupied by the young squire, Geoffrey Greville, and Madame, his
mother; Green Arbour, owned by Admiral Perry, who had married the widow
of the late High Sheriff; and The Meads, the ofttime deserted seat of a
rich London banker.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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