'Speaking of our powerful influence over our men-folk--Mr. Freddy
wasn't present, was he, when she aired her views?'

'No.'

'I thought not. Her influence over Mr. Freddy is maintained by the
strictest silence on matters he isn't keen about.'

CHAPTER V

Seeing Ulland House for the first time on a fine afternoon in early May
against the jubilant green of its woodland hillside, the beholder, a
little dazzled in that first instant by the warmth of colour burning in
the ancient brick, might adapt the old dean's line and call the
coral-tinted structure rambling down the hillside, 'A rose-red dwelling
half as old as Time.'

Its original architecture had been modified by the generations as they
passed. One lord of Ulland had expressed his fancy on the eastern facade
in gable and sculptured gargoyle; another his fear or his defiance in
the squat and sturdy tower with its cautious slits in lieu of windows.
Yet another Ulland had brought home from eighteenth-century Italy a love
of colonnades and terraced gardens; and one still later had cut down to
the level of the sward the high ground-floor windows, so that where
before had been two doors or three, were now a dozen giving egress to
the gardens.

The legend so often encountered in the history of old English houses was
not neglected here--that it had been a Crusader of this family who had
himself brought home from the Holy Land the Lebanon cedar that spread
wide its level branches on the west, cutting the sunset into even bars.
Tradition also said it was a counsellor of Elizabeth who had set the
dial on the lawn. Even the latest lord had found a way to leave his
impress upon the time. He introduced 'Clock golf' at Ulland. From the
upper windows on the south and west the roving eye was caught by the
great staring face of this new timepiece on the turf--its Roman numerals
showing keen and white upon the vivid green. On the other side of the
cedar, that incorrigible Hedonist, the crumbling dial, told you in Latin
that he only marked the shining hours. But the brand new clock on the
lawn bore neither watchword nor device--seemed even to have dropped its
hands as though in modesty withheld from pointing to hours so little
worthy of record.

Two or three men, on this fine Saturday, had come down from London for
the week-end to disport themselves on the Ulland links, half a mile
beyond the park. After a couple of raw days, the afternoon had turned
out quite unseasonab