house, nestling in the upper part of a well-wooded valley, sheltered on three sides from the winds.
Stranleigh had tramped over the hills, and now stood for a few minutes enjoying the view from the highest part of his estate. Half a mile further down the valley, along the banks of the stream, lay the rural village, quaint with its grey stone, ivy-covered walls and thatched roofs, while above it rose the grey, square Norman tower of the old church. From the end of the High Street up through the trees, came an unaccustomed note of colour, which, except for its steadiness, looked like the blurred suggestion of a fire. Stranleigh knitted his brow, wondering what it was, then, walking down the path towards the house, the view became more distinct, and he saw a two-storied building of very red brick, covered with equally red tiles. Then, suddenly, he remembered the new public library, and realised that his own money had placed there this violent contrast to the subdued hue of the ancient village.
"I wish I had built it with stone," he said, with a sigh. "By jove, I'll do it yet, or else cover it with plaster!"
He entered his house, went to his room, and arrayed himself in the disreputable knickerbockers
