* * * * * Two months had gone by, and Mr. and Mrs. Harp were beginning to grow accustomed to the thrilling reflection that Chancery was theirs. Their possession of the place was peaceful; their enjoyment of it quiet. But their unconcealed delight in their acquisition was almost childish. For days together they never went outside the gates. . . . After a week or two of private revelry in their surroundings, they pressed invitations upon a pack of friends and relatives, whose company they did not desire, because their pride of ownership simply had to be served. This was clamouring for the meat and drink of stares and ejaculations and bated breath. Their precious toy had to be admired. As for the Groom of the Chambers, not to advertise their employment of such a paragon would have been tantamount to suppressing the Kohinoor. He was the light of their eyes. They had, of course, no idea that John Worcester, tall, quiet, respectful, constantly about the reception rooms, dusting, ordering, cleaning, polishing this old bureau, rehanging that picture, was Willoughby Gray Bagot. There was no reason why they should have perceived the masquerade. They certainly recognized that Worcester was no ordinary servant, but the mystery stifled curiosity, as mysteries may. One never could tell. Revelation might cost them his service, and—the best was good enough for them. They had never set eyes upon the vendor before the sale, and Willoughby had spread it abroad that he was bound for New Zealand. At the lodge he lived quietly enough, his only servant being an old groom who kept his own counsel. In the village, two miles away, he had been scarcely known by sight. Such letters as he received went first to a Bank, where they were redirected to ‘Mr. Worcester.’ Captain Bagot had covered his tracks. It must be admitted that the Harps’ estimate was just. Willoughby gave their home a care which money cannot buy, and themselves a service which they had never dreamed of. He was the last word. So far as the other servants were concerned, Mr. Worcester and all his works were naturally regarded with a profound disgust. This was not expressed, mainly because the staff profited so handsomely by his labour. But the scorn and indignation which his faithful maintenance of the reception rooms provoked, were largely responsible for the concord which ruled the Servants’ Hall. It was, indeed, as much the unpleasant personality of the butler as the virtues of the Groom of the Chambers that in June determined his patrons to attempt an important change. In a few days their guests would arrive. If only they could induce Worcester to take the butler’s place, they would be spared the humiliation of being treated like dirt before their visitors, while their star servitor, instead of flitting in the background, would be agreeably conspicuous.