Great Disgrace. At last he brought his hand down with a bang on the
arm of his chair. He would never live in this House of Dishonour
again. Never. He would sell it.

"By God!" he cried, starting to his feet, as the inspiration came.

He would sell it, as it stood, lock, stock and barrel, with everything
in it. He would wipe out at one stroke the whole of his unedifying
history. Denby Hall gone, what could tie him to Durdlebury? He would
be freed, for ever, from the petrification of the grey, cramping
little city. If Peggy didn't like it, that was Peggy's affair. In
material things he was master of his destiny. Peggy would have to
follow him in his career, whatever it was, not he Peggy. He saw
clearly that which had been mapped out for him, the silly little
social ambitions, the useless existence, little Doggie Trevor for ever
trailing obediently behind the lady of Denby Hall. Doggie threw
himself back in his chair and laughed. No one had ever heard him laugh
like that. After a while he was even surprised at himself.

He was perfectly ready to marry Peggy. It was almost a preordained
thing. A rupture of the engagement was unthinkable. Her undeviating
loyalty bound him by every fibre of gratitude and honour. But it was
essential that Peggy should know whom and what she was marrying. The
Doggie trailing in her wake no longer existed. If she were prepared to
follow the new Doggie, well and good. If not, there would be conflict.
For that he was prepared.

He strode, this time contemptuously, into his wrecked peacock and
ivory room, where his telephone (blatant and hideous thing) was
ingeniously concealed behind a screen, and rang up Spooner and
Smithson, the leading firm of auctioneers and estate agents in the
town. At the mention of his name, Mr. Spooner, the senior partner,
came to the telephone.

"Yes, I'm back, Mr. Spooner, and I'm quite well," said Doggie. "I want
to see you on very important business. When can you fix it up? Any
time? Can you come along now to Denby Hall?"

Mr. Spooner would be pleased to wait upon Mr. Trevor immediately. He
would start at once. Doggie went out and sat on the front doorstep and
smoked cigarettes till he came.

"Mr. Spooner," said he, as soon as the elderly auctioneer descended
from his little car, "I'm going to sell the whole of the Denby Hall
estate, and, with the exception of a few odds and ends, family relics
and so forth, which I'll pick out, all the contents of the
hous