re, but whatever impression was
made has gone out of my memory. But I recall very clearly how we sat at
the little round table near the big window that gave on the terrace, and
dined and talked. I remember her talking of my uncle.

She asked after him, and whether he seemed well. "I wish I could help,"
she said. "But I've never helped him much, never. His way of doing
things was never mine. And since--since--. Since he began to get so
rich, he's kept things from me. In the old days--it was different....

"There he is--I don't know what he's doing. He won't have me near
him....

"More's kept from me than anyone. The very servants won't let me know.
They try and stop the worst of the papers--Boom's things--from coming
upstairs.... I suppose they've got him in a corner, George. Poor old
Teddy! Poor old Adam and Eve we are! Ficial Receivers with flaming
swords to drive us out of our garden! I'd hoped we'd never have another
Trek. Well--anyway, it won't be Crest Hill.... But it's hard on Teddy.
He must be in such a mess up there. Poor old chap. I suppose we
can't help him. I suppose we'd only worry him. Have some more soup
George--while there is some?..."

The next day was one of those days of strong perception that stand out
clear in one's memory when the common course of days is blurred. I can
recall now the awakening in the large familiar room that was always kept
for me, and how I lay staring at its chintz-covered chairs, its spaced
fine furniture, its glimpse of the cedars without, and thought that all
this had to end.

I have never been greedy for money, I have never wanted to be rich,
but I felt now an immense sense of impending deprivation. I read the
newspapers after breakfast--I and my aunt together--and then I walked
up to see what Cothope had done in the matter of Lord Roberts B. Never
before had I appreciated so acutely the ample brightness of the Lady
Grove gardens, the dignity and wide peace of all about me. It was one
of those warm mornings in late May that have won all the glory of summer
without losing the gay delicacy of spring. The shrubbery was bright with
laburnum and lilac, the beds swarmed with daffodils and narcissi and
with lilies of the valley in the shade.

I went along the well-kept paths among the rhododendra and through the
private gate into the woods where the bluebells and common orchid were
in profusion. Never before had I tasted so completely the fine sense
of privilege and ownership