"You found all well at Trevanion, I hope?"
"All well, my lord."
"You love the old place?"
"Dearly, as you may imagine."
"I can quite understand. This old house now—I have often been advised to pull it down and build something more modern, but for the life of me I cannot. Every room, every stone is dear to me. Probably my sons, or my sons' sons, will build a more pretentious dwelling, but this is good enough for me. It is a pity your pride forbids you from keeping that old place of yours. The Trevisas would turn it into a dog-kennel. Ought you not to reconsider the question?"
"I have considered it many times, my lord, but the thing is impossible. I did a base thing to promise Trevisa what I did, and to make a bargain with him; it would be baser still to receive the wages of service, unworthy my name."
"Ah well, you should know your own affairs, only it seems sad that you, the last member of a branch of your house, should be houseless, landless, and all for a fad."
"Better a Trevanion should be landless than take the price of dishonour," I said. "Mistress Nancy Molesworth hath made me feel this. I hope she is well?" I brought in her name because I was longing to hear news concerning her.
"We will speak of her presently; but yes, I may say the young person is well. I understand, then, that you have decided to leave Trevanion rather than profit by your bargain with Trevisa?"
"I can do no other, my lord."