He admired the young squire manner of his friend Vernley--the way in which he obtained all he wanted. The whole country-side was his, the farmhouses all gladly opened their doors at his approach. The name of Vernley was powerful. The next thing John realised was that the name was loved. The Vernleys had lived on the land for generations, and their knowledge of every family on the estate was unique. They knew the hereditary tendencies of Farmer Jenkins' children, the constitutional inclination of the Wichsteeds to bronchitis, the wanderlust that was in the blood of all the Wilkinsons' younger sons. John's friend too was intimate with all the village boys. He played cricket with them, called them by their Christian names, and assumed leadership in their midst without any rivalry or jealousy. This was new and strange to John; but it all seemed part of the landscape. The village people were the natural possessions of the Vernleys, just as much as the fine old copper beeches in their drive, or the splendidly level lawn and flower-bordered terraces. It had always been so, and there was no reason why it should ever change. The village church, with its tombs of dead Vernleys also showed that their religion was a family affair, looked after by the vicar who held his living by appointment of a Vernley. Comfort too was so visible in that home. There were solidarity and security in those massive oak doors under the stone portico. The heavy carpets sank richly under the feet; one felt majestic ascending the broad staircase with its crest-panelled pillars. The bedrooms with the blues, reds, and greens of carpets and eiderdowns and couches had a solemn splendour, particularly after the coldness of a school dormitory. It gave John a peculiar sense of pleasure to watch the maid in the morning enter his room with the hot water. The copper water can gleamed as the felt cover with its monogram came off. The curtains as they were drawn, fell back in heavy beautiful folds, and his bed was a massive thing built to endure for generations. John revelled in all these things so new in his life and he looked at Vernley closely when that young gentleman expressed no particular delight, no pride of proprietorship. John, of course, was careful not to show his ecstasy. He accepted everything without comment, but secretly he exulted. Life was going to be pleasant enough with such splendid traditions and beautiful houses. He would spend his days visiting friends; he would find such a house himself, and entertain large parties. The wine should stand richly in beautiful glasses, as it did on the Vernleys' table at night time, discreetly lit with shaded candles in the silver candelabra. He would find servants as well trained, a butler as majestic, and the stables at the back of his house should be filled with superb horses, flawlessly groomed.