white and papered in dark green. The furniture was black oak, and two deep, built-in cupboards filled with blue china lent a comfortable old-world air. There were two large steel engravings on either side of the chimney piece: Wellington and Blucher after Waterloo, and The Trial of William, Lord Russell. The large fireplace had been papered over. Tapping it with his knuckles, he thought, "I'll have that opened up," but, as Mrs. Machin looked at him sharply, he picked up a china greyhound from the mantel and examined it. His greyhound . . . . but it was ridiculous.
Mrs. Machin set him down to cold beef, bread and butter, bramble jam, and tea.
"Home-made bread?" he asked, with his mouth full.
"No, indeed. We've plenty to do without bread-making and the baker three times a week from Mistwell. Ain't it good?"
"Delicious," he replied, abashed.
Mrs. Machin had closed the door between the dining room and kitchen and established herself in a straight-backed chair against the wall. She said:
"I should know you for a Vale anywhere. I s'pose that's why your uncle took to you."
"It was a great surprise. It scarcely seemed fair to my brother."
"Fair! What's unfair about it? Couldn't he leave his property where he liked?" She stroked her apron with her large-knuckled hands. "Well I remember when he went away to Halifax ten years ago to choose which one he would make his heir. When he came back he said to me—'I've made my choice, Mrs. Machin. His name's Derek. The other one is no Vale,' says he. He was terrible proud of
