“Now you must please to go away,” began the formidable housekeeper in her shrillest key; “it is too late to show visitors over. Why, bless us, it’s you, Miss Beatrice, with a strange man! What do you want?” Beatrice looked at her companion as a hint that he should explain himself, but he said nothing. “This is your new squire,” she said, not without a certain pride. “I found him wandering about the beach. He did not know how to get here, so I brought him over.” “Lord, Miss Beatrice, and how do you know it’s him?” said Mrs. Thomas. “How do you know it ain’t a housebreaker?” “Oh, I’m sure he cannot be,” answered Beatrice aside, “because he isn’t clever enough.” Then followed a long discussion. Mrs. Thomas stoutly refused to admit the stranger without evidence of identity, and Beatrice, embracing his cause, as stoutly pressed his claims. As for the lawful owner, he made occasional feeble attempts to prove that he was himself, but Mrs. Thomas was not to be imposed upon in this way. At last they came to a dead lock. “Y’d better go back to the inn, sir,” said Mrs. Thomas with scathing sarcasm, “and come up to-morrow with proofs and your luggage.” “Haven’t you got any letters with you?” suggested Beatrice as a last resource. As it happened Owen had a letter, one from the lawyer to himself about the property, and mentioning Mrs. Thomas’s name as being in charge of the Castle. He had forgotten all about it, but at this interesting juncture it was produced and read aloud by Beatrice. Mrs. Thomas took it, and having examined it carefully through her horn-rimmed spectacles, was constrained to admit its authenticity. “I’m sure I apologise, sir,” she said with a half-doubtful courtesy and much tact, “but one can’t be too careful with all these trampseses about; I never should have thought from the look of you, sir, how as you was the new squire.” This might be candid, but it was not flattering, and it caused Beatrice to snigger behind her handkerchief in true school-girl fashion. However, they entered, and were led by Mrs. Thomas with solemn pomp through the great and little halls, the stone parlour and the oak parlour, the library and the huge drawing-room, in which the white heads of marble statues protruded from the bags of brown holland wherewith they were wrapped about in a manner ghastly to behold. At length they reached a small octagon-shaped room that, facing south, commanded a most glorious view of sea and land. It was called the Lady’s Boudoir, and joined another of about the same size, which in its former owner’s time had been used as a smoking-room. “If you don’t mind, madam,” said the lord of all this magnificence, “I should like to stop here, I am getting tired of walking.” And there he stopped for many years. The rest of the Castle was shut up; he scarcely ever visited it except occasionally to see that the rooms were properly aired, for he was a methodical man.