screens. The general effect was of extraordinary lavish
profusion--of wilful, splendid, careless extravagance.

Yet the arm of the sofa on which Edwin leaned was threadbare in two
different places. The room was faded and worn, like its mistress. Like
its mistress it seemed to exhale a silent and calm authority, based on
historic tradition.

And the room was historic; it had been the theatre of history. For
twenty-five years--ever since Tom was seven--it had witnessed the
adventurous domestic career of the Orgreaves, so quiet superficially, so
exciting in reality. It was the drawing-room of a man who had
consistently used immense powers of industry for the satisfaction of his
prodigal instincts; it was the drawing-room of a woman whose placidity
no danger could disturb, and who cared for nothing if only her husband
was amused. Spend and gain! And, for a change, gain and spend! That
was the method. Work till sheer exhaustion beat you. Plan, scheme,
devise! Satisfy your curiosity and your other instincts! Experiment!
Accept risks! Buy first, order first, pledge yourself first; and then
split your head in order to pay and to redeem! When chance aids you to
accumulate, let the pile grow, out of mere perversity, and then scatter
it royally! Play heartily! Play with the same intentness as you work!
Live to the uttermost instant and to the last flicker of energy! Such
was the spirit of Osmond Orgreave, and the spirit which reigned in the
house generally, if not in every room of the house.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THREE.

For each child had its room--except Jimmie and Johnnie, who shared one.
And each room was the fortress of an egoism, the theatre of a separate
drama, mysterious, and sacred from the others. Jimmie could not
remember having been in Janet's room--it was forbidden by Alicia, who
was jealous of her sole right of entree--and nobody would have dreamed
of violating the chamber of Jimmie and Johnnie to discover the origin of
peculiar noises that puzzled the household at seven o'clock in the
morning. As for Tom's castle--it was a legend to the younger children;
it was supposed to be wondrous.

All the children had always cost money, and a great deal of money, until
Marian had left the family in deep gloom for her absence, and Tom, with
a final wrench of a vast sum from the willing but wincing father, had
settled into a remunerative profession. T