"No, not very long, I should say. By the way, I did not know until I met you with him that you knew Mr. Guyon, Robert."
"Didn't you? Q yes; a business acquaintance of mine."
"Business acquaintance? Hem! I can understand Mr. Guyon's popularity from a social point of view, but in matters of business I confess I think that----"
"Don't you fear, dear old Charley; I know all about that; and--and does Frere go often to the Guyons'?"
"N-no; not very often, I think. He's been once or twice lately; but he's not likely to see much more of them this season, as he's gone out of town--down to his father's--on a matter of business. What do you think of Miss Guyon?"
"She is very handsome--at least I suppose so; I'm not much of a judge in those matters. And how are we getting on with Hamilton's action?"
Upon which question the gentlemen plunged into a conversation full of business details, which occupied them until they arrived at their station, where alighting, they hired a trap and drove over to Middlemeads.
Passing through a little village, and turning sharply to the right after sighting the old church, they came upon a quaint one-storied stone lodge. Standing out from the ivy, in which it otherwise was buried, stood a sculptured knight in fall armour treading on a serpent, the well-known crest of the Chevers of Middlemeads, the glorious old family whose ancestral seat had passed to strangers, and whose last scion was now dwelling in a little cottage at Capécure near Boulogne. A few short words of explanation to the old portress gained them admission, and they entered a long drive leading through groves of noble trees and over undulating ground--where the deer, half hidden in the deep fern, were quietly feeding--to the house. Then under the principal gateway with its long range of gables and unrelieved wall, through the double arch in the first court, which was carpeted with greensward, to the second or paved court, fronted with its pure Ionic colonnade, where the old housekeeper, already apprised of their coming, was in readiness to receive them. Charles Yeldham's heart, albeit somewhat incrusted with legal formulæ and a long course of Doe and Roe, yet filled with reverence for antiquity and appreciation of architectural beauty, thrilled within him as, preceded by the old housekeeper, they walked through the great hall, now denuded of its glorious family pictures, its Holbeins and Lelys, its Jansens and Knellers, its grand Vandyke, its "Animals reposing" by Snyders, and its "Riding-party" by Wouvermans--all long since dispersed at the hands of Christie and Manson, but still retaining its fireplace with the ornamental fire-dogs bearing the arms and initials H. A. of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn, royal guests of the Chevers in the good old days. Through the Brown Gallery and Lady Betty Chiddingstone's chamber, through the Spangled Bedroom, and the King's Room, where James I. had passed a night, through the Organ Room, where still stood the ancient instrument which had been used for divine service in connection with the adjoining chapel, long since dismantled and half in ruins, they passed; and in each the old cicerone poured forth her oft-told tale of byegone glories.
While in each of these rooms, Yeldham indulged in retrospect, peopling them according to his fancy with those who might have inhabited them, picturing to himself how the stately lords and ladies lived and moved and had their being; and smiled half-cynically to himself in the thought that, other differences allowed, they were doubtless swayed by the same passions, victims of the same hopes and fears and doubts, moved by the same temptations, and acted on by the same impulses as we of these degenerate days. He was surprised to find that his companion was going through the house in the most practical manner, apportioning the rooms one by one to their several purposes, deciding upon the Brown Gallery for a drawing-room, the King's Chamber for the principal bedroom, planning the furniture and fittings for the great hall, and altogether comporting himself as though he were the head of a large family come down to make the necessary arrangements for its immediate induction. This notion struck him at first comically, but when he saw it persevered in in every detail, he began to think more seriously of it; and after they had left the house, and were again in the trap driving back to the station, he turned to his friend and said,
"Why, Robert, what on earth is in your head now? I've been perfectly astonished in watching you ever since we entered Middlemeads."