Cyril was so taken aback at this unexpected tribute to his cousin's memory that he was only able to murmur a discreet "Thank you."
"The late Lord Wilmersley," said the coroner, "was a most public-spirited man and is a loss to the county."
"Quite so, quite so," assented Mr. Twombley. "Gave a good bit to the hunt, though he never hunted. Pretty decent of him, you know. You hunt, of course?"
"I haven't done much of it lately, but I shall certainly do so in future."
"Your cousin," interrupted the vicar, "was a man of deep religious convictions. His long stay in heathen lands had only strengthened his devotion to the true faith. His pew was never empty and he subscribed liberally to many charities."
By Jove, thought poor Cyril, his cousin had evidently been a paragon. It seemed incredible.
"I see it will be difficult to fill his place," he said aloud. "But I will do my best."
Twombley clapped him heartily on the back. "Oh, you'll do all right, my boy, and then, you know, you'll open the castle. The place has been like a prison since Wilmersley's marriage."
"No one regretted that as much as Lord Wilmersley," said the vicar. "He often spoke to me about it. But he had the choice between placing Lady Wilmersley in an institution or turning the castle into an asylum. He chose the latter alternative, although it was a great sacrifice. I have rarely known so agreeable a man or one so suited to shine in any company. It was unpardonable of Lady Upton to have allowed him to marry without warning him of her granddaughter's condition. But he never had a word of blame for her."
"It was certainly a pity he did not have Lady Wilmersley put under proper restraint. If he had only done so, he would be alive now," said the coroner.