Leigh Manor had belonged to Mr. Fothersley from the day of his birth, which occurred two months after the death of his father. That gentleman had married late in life for the sole and avowed purpose of providing his estate with an heir, of which purpose his son most cordially approved. At the same time he had never seen his way to go so far himself. The Fothersleys were not a marrying family. His mother, a colourless person, of irreproachable lineage, and a view of life which contemplated only two aspects, the comfortable and the uncomfortable, had lived long enough to see him well into the forties, by which time he was as skillful as she had been in the management of an establishment. Everything continued to run in the same perfect order, and Mr. Fothersley felt no more inclined than during her lifetime to disturb the smooth current of his pleasant life by embarking on the very uncertain adventure of matrimony. On this particular morning he paused outside his own gate to look at the view—almost the same view that was obtainable from the “house on the wall” at Thorpe Farm. Ever since he was a small child, Mr. Fothersley could remember taking visitors to see “our view,” and he had, at an early age, esteemed it unfortunate that none so good was to be obtained from the grounds of Leigh Manor. He looked out over the quiet scene. The great beautiful valley, with the suggestion only of the sea beyond, the dotted farmsteads, with here and there some noble old mansion like his own secluded among its trees, and, at his feet, little Mentmore village, with its grey church tower, half hidden in the hollow. It was typical of all he held most dearly. A symbol of the well-ordered ease and superiority of his position, of the things which were indeed, though unconsciously, Mr. Fothersley’s religion. In the grey church his forbears had, like himself, sat with their peers, in the front pews, while their dependents had herded discreetly at the back behind the pillars. In these eminently picturesque cottages, of two or three rooms, dwelt families who, he had always taken more or less for granted, regarded him and his with a mixture of respect and reverence, just touched—only touched—with awe. On the whole most worthy and respectable people. Mr. Fothersley was generous to them out of his superabundance. He was indeed attached to them; and although Mr. Fothersley prided himself on moving with the times, it was plain that any alteration in the admirable state of things existing in Mentmore would not only be a mistake, but absolutely wrong.