ressive," Hamel agreed, "and wonderfully beautiful. It
seems odd," he added, with a laugh, "that you should care about this
little shanty here, with all the beautiful rooms you must have of your
own."

"It's Naboth's vineyard," Mr. Fentolin groaned. "Now, Mr. Hamel, you
are going to be gracious, aren't you? Let us leave the question of your
little habitation here alone for the present. Come back with me. My
niece shall give you some tea, and you shall choose your room from
forty. You can sleep in a haunted chamber, or a historical chamber, in
Queen Elizabeth's room, a Victorian chamber, or a Louis Quinze room. All
my people have spent their substance in furniture. Don't look at your
bag. Clothes are unnecessary. I can supply you with everything. Or, if
you prefer it, I can send a fast car into Norwich for your own things.
Come and be my guest, please."

Hamel hesitated. He had not the slightest desire to go to St. David's
Hall, and though he strove to ignore it, he was conscious of an aversion
of which he was heartily ashamed for this strange fragment of humanity.
On the other hand, his mission, the actual mission which had brought him
down to these parts, could certainly best be served by an entree into
the Hall itself--and there was the girl, whom he felt sure belonged
there. He had never for a moment been able to dismiss her from his
thoughts. Her still, cold face, the delicate perfection of her clothes
and figure, the grey eyes which had rested upon his so curiously,
haunted him. He was desperately anxious to see her again. If he refused
this invitation, if he rejected Mr. Fentolin's proffered friendship, it
would be all the more difficult.

"You are really very kind," he began hesitatingly--.

"It is settled," Mr. Fentolin interrupted, "settled. Meekins, you can
ride back again. I shall not paint to-day. Mr. Hamel, you will walk by
my side, will you not? I can run my little machine quite slowly. You
see, I have an electric battery. It needs charging often, but I have
a dynamo of my own. You never saw a vehicle like this in all your
travellings, did you?"

Hamel shook his head.

"An electrical bath-chair," Mr. Fentolin continued. "Practice has made
me remarkably skilful in its manipulation. You see, I can steer to an
inch."

He was already turning around. Hamel rose to his feet.

"You are really very kind," he said. "I should like to come up and see
the Hall, at any rate, but in the meantime, as we are her