k it for granted that I, his only son, would never be called
upon to earn a living for myself. He imagined that if there were not a
vacancy for me on the great Southerton Estates, at least there would be
found some post in that diplomatic service which still remains the
special preserve of our privileged classes. He died too early to
realize how false his calculations had been. Neither my uncle nor the
State took the slightest notice of me, or showed any interest in my
career. An occasional brace of pheasants, or basket of hares, was all
that ever reached me to remind me that I was heir to Otwell House and
one of the richest estates in the country. In the meantime, I found
myself a bachelor and man about town, living in a suite of apartments
in Grosvenor Mansions, with no occupation save that of pigeon-shooting
and polo-playing at Hurlingham. Month by month I realized that it was
more and more difficult to get the brokers to renew my bills, or to
cash any further post-obits upon an unentailed property. Ruin lay
right across my path, and every day I saw it clearer, nearer, and more
absolutely unavoidable.

What made me feel my own poverty the more was that, apart from the
great wealth of Lord Southerton, all my other relations were fairly
well-to-do. The nearest of these was Everard King, my father's nephew
and my own first cousin, who had spent an adventurous life in Brazil,
and had now returned to this country to settle down on his fortune. We
never knew how he made his money, but he appeared to have plenty of it,
for he bought the estate of Greylands, near Clipton-on-the-Marsh, in
Suffolk. For the first year of his residence in England he took no
more notice of me than my miserly uncle; but at last one summer
morning, to my very great relief and joy, I received a letter asking me
to come down that very day and spend a short visit at Greylands Court.
I was expecting a rather long visit to Bankruptcy Court at the time,
and this interruption seemed almost providential. If I could only get
on terms with this unknown relative of mine, I might pull through yet.
For the family credit he could not let me go entirely to the wall. I
ordered my valet to pack my valise, and I set off the same evening for
Clipton-on-the-Marsh.

After changing at Ipswich, a little local train deposited me at a
small, deserted station lying amidst a rolling grassy country, with a
sluggish and winding river curving in and out amidst the v