RICHARD SHELTON.

He sealed it, and, sitting with his hands between his knees, he let his
forehead droop lower and lower to the table, till it rested on his
marriage settlement. And he had a feeling of relief, like one who drops
exhausted at his journey's end.

THE END.

THE COUNTRY HOUSE

By John Galsworthy

CHAPTER I

A PARTY AT WORSTED SKEYNES

The year was 1891, the month October, the day Monday. In the dark
outside the railway-station at Worsted Skeynes Mr. Horace Pendyce's
omnibus, his brougham, his luggage-cart, monopolised space. The face of
Mr. Horace Pendyce's coachman monopolised the light of the solitary
station lantern. Rosy-gilled, with fat close-clipped grey whiskers and
inscrutably pursed lips, it presided high up in the easterly air like an
emblem of the feudal system. On the platform within, Mr. Horace
Pendyce's first footman and second groom in long livery coats with silver
buttons, their appearance slightly relieved by the rakish cock of their
top-hats, awaited the arrival of the 6.15.

The first footman took from his pocket a half-sheet of stamped and
crested notepaper covered with Mr. Horace Pendyce's small and precise
calligraphy. He read from it in a nasal, derisive voice:

"Hon. Geoff, and Mrs. Winlow, blue room and dress; maid, small drab. Mr.
George, white room. Mrs. Jaspar Bellew, gold. The Captain, red. General
Pendyce, pink room; valet, back attic. That's the lot."

The groom, a red-cheeked youth, paid no attention.

"If this here Ambler of Mr. George's wins on Wednesday," he said, "it's
as good as five pounds in my pocket. Who does for Mr. George?"

"James, of course."

The groom whistled.

"I'll try an' get his loadin' to-morrow. Are you on, Tom?"

The footman answered:

"Here's another over the page. Green room, right wing--that Foxleigh;
he's no good. 'Take all you can and give nothing' sort! But can't he
shoot just! That's why they ask him!"

From behind a screen of dark trees the train ran in.

Down the platform came the first passengers--two cattlemen with long
sticks, slouching by in their frieze coats, diffusing an odour of beast
and black tobacco; then a couple, and single figures, keeping as far
apart as possible, the guests of Mr. Horace Pendyce. Slowly they came
out one by one into the loom of the carriages, and stood with their eyes
fixed carefully before them, as though afraid they might re