lly think that he had taken leave of his senses.

"Under the impression you're master here, perhaps?" Golding might say.
Anyhow those were the words Antony put into his mouth.

"I just happen to have that notion," Antony would reply pleasantly.

"Since when?" Golding ought to ask.

"The _notion_," Antony would reply slowly, "has been more or less in my
mind since a year ago last March. I am not sure whether the _fact_ dated
from that month, or came into actuality this morning."

There his imagination would fail him. There would be an interim. Then the
scene would conclude by their having a drink together, Golding looking at
Antony over his glass to utter at slow intervals.

"Well, I'm jiggered."

It was so possible a little drama, so even probable a little drama, it is
small wonder that Antony found himself chuckling quietly every now and
then as he considered it. The only thing was, that he wanted it to hurry
up, and that not solely for his own sake, nor for the sake of his secret
hopes, nor for the sake of watching Golding's amazed face during the
enactment of the little drama, but quite largely for the sake of the big
grey house, which lay before him.

It looked so terribly lonely; it looked dead. It was like a
flower-surrounded corpse. That there actually was life within it, he was
aware, since he had once seen a white-haired man at a window, who, so a
fellow-gardener had informed him on being questioned later, must have
been the old butler. He and his wife had been left in charge as
caretakers. All the other indoor servants had been dismissed by Doctor
Hilary on his return from that fateful journey from London. Somehow the
man's presence at the window had seemed but to emphasize the loneliness,
the odd corpse-like atmosphere of the house. It was as if a face had
looked out from a coffin. Antony never had nearer view of either the
butler or his wife. Tradespeople called for orders, he believed; but, if
either the man or woman ever sought the fresh air, it must be after the
work in the gardens was over for the day.

Antony liked to picture himself restoring life to the old place. Now and
again he allowed himself to see a woman aiding him in the pleasant task.
He would picture her standing by the sundial, looking out towards the
sparkling water; standing by the marble basin with white pigeons alighted
at her feet, and peacocks strutting near her; walking among the marble
statues, with a book; passing up the w