Captain Aylmer had determined that he would ask his question on the way back from the farm, and now resolved that he might as well begin with some allusion to Mrs. Partridge's words about the house. The afternoon was bright and cold, and the lane down to the farmhouse had been dried by the wind, so that the day was pleasant for walking. "We might as well go on to the bridge," he said, as they left the farm-yard. "I always think that Perivale church looks better from Creevy bridge than any other point." Perivale church stood high in the centre of the town, on an eminence, and was graced with a spire which was declared by the Perivalians to be preferable to that of Salisbury in proportion, though it was acknowledged to be somewhat inferior to it in height. The little river Creevy, which ran through a portion of the suburbs of the town, and which, as there seen, was hardly more than a ditch, then sloped away behind Creevy Grange, as the farm of Mrs. Partridge was called, and was crossed by a small wooden bridge, from which there was a view, not only of the church, but of all that side of the hill on which Mrs. Winterfield's large brick house stood conspicuously. So they walked down to Creevy bridge, and, when there, stood leaning on the parapet and looking back upon the town. "How well I know every house and spot in the place as I see them from here," he said. "A good many of the houses are your own,--or will be some day; and therefore you should know them." "I remember, when I used to be here as a boy fishing, I always thought Aunt Winterfield's house was the biggest house in the county." "It can't be nearly so large as your father's house in Yorkshire." "No; certainly it is not. Aylmer Park is a large place; but the house does not stretch itself out so wide as that; nor does it stand on the side of a hill so as to show out its proportions with so much ostentation. The coach-house and the stables, and the old brewhouse, seem to come half way down the hill. And when I was a boy I had much more respect for my aunt's red-brick house in Perivale than I had for Aylmer Park." "And now it's your own." "Yes; now it's my own,--and all my respect for it is gone. I used to think the Creevy the best river in England for fish; but I wouldn't give a sixpence now for all the perch I ever caught in it." "Perhaps your taste for perch is gone also." "Yes; and my taste for jam. I never believed in the store-room at Aylmer Park as I did in my aunt's store-room here." "I don't doubt but what it is full now." "I dare say; but I shall never have the curiosity even to inquire. Ah, dear,--I wish I knew what to do about the house." "You won't sell it, I suppose?" "Not if I could either live in it, or let it. It would be wrong to let it stand idle." "But you need not decide quite at once." "That's just what I want to do. I want to decide at once."