an almost
overwhelming idea of her possessions and (if her temperament set that
way) of her responsibilities. Big commercial buildings, blocks of shops,
whole streets of small houses, drew from the lawyer a point of the
finger and a brief, "That's yours"--or sometimes he would tell how her
father had bought, how built, and how profited by the venture. Every
time she would turn her head to look where his finger pointed, and nod
slightly, gravely, composedly. She seemed to be reserving her opinion of
it all. The only time she spoke was when we were emerging from the town
and he showed her Hatcham Ford, saying, as usual, "That's yours," but
adding that it was let furnished to Mr. Leonard Octon, who was abroad
just now. Then her nod of understanding was accompanied by a low murmur,
"It's very pretty."

She said nothing when we drove into the park of Breysgate Priory itself:
yet I saw her eyes fixed intently on the great house on the hill, which
comes into view directly the drive is entered, and certainly looks
imposing enough. After the first formal greeting she did not speak to
me, nor I to her, until her reception at the house was over and we had
sat down to luncheon. But she had smiled at me once--when we were still
standing by the door, on the terrace at the top of the steps, and
Cartmell was showing her what he called "the lie of the land." The
omnibus with its pair of big horses and its pair of big men came
trotting up the hill, and on its big roof lay one small battered trunk.
Loft was waiting to give orders to his footmen for the disposal of her
luggage: when he saw the solitary and diminutive article, he advanced
and, with pronounced graciousness, received it from the omnibus himself.
She watched, and then gave me the smile that I have mentioned; evidently
Loft--or Loft in conjunction with that humble box--appealed to her sense
of humor.

Cartmell was soon at his ease with her: he called her "My dear" twice
before we got to the sweets. The second time he apologized for taking
the liberty--on the first occasion, I suppose, the words slipped out
unnoticed by himself.

"But I like it," she said. "My father spoke so warmly about you in his
letter."

Cartmell looked at me for a moment; we neither of us knew of a letter.

"He told me never to part with Mr. Cartmell because an honest lawyer was
worth his weight in gold."

"I ride fourteen-seven," said Cartmell with a chuckle.

"And he said something about you, t