But it would be difficult to describe the emotions of James Rowland as he walked through the beautiful woods and entered the house. He had never been in the house before. Naturally, at the time when he first conceived his passion for it, the young foundry man, however clever, could never have had any means of entering into such a place; and to tell the truth, he did not much know what was required by a family of condition in an English or rather Scotch house. He knew the luxury of the East, and how to make a bungalow comfortable, but the arrangements of a mansion at home were strange to him. He followed the agent accordingly with a little awe, which he carefully concealed, through the suites of rooms, libraries, morning rooms, boudoirs, all sorts of lavish accommodation, with the uses of which he was practically unacquainted. But he did not betray his ignorance. On the contrary he was very critical, finding out the defects in the old-fashioned furniture as if he had been accustomed to such things all his life. “This looks as old as Methuselah,” he said. “Why, the things must be mouldy. I should think they can’t have been touched for a hundred years.” “More than that,” said the agent, “and that’s just why the ladies like it. It is called Countess Jean’s boudoir. Everything is just as it was when she came home a bride. The ladies will not have it touched.” “Oh, I know that decayed style is the fashion,” said Mr. Rowland without winking an eyelid: “but you can’t imagine we will put up with these old hangings? You must have them cleared away.” “Well do that, if it’s your desire; but the hangings are real tapestry--the oldest in Scotland. The Earl will be just delighted to have them back.” “Now I look at them,” said Rowland, “I believe my wife will like them. For my part I like fresh colours and rich stuffs. I like to have bright things about me, I find it all a little dingy, Mr. Campbell. You must put your best foot forward and have it put in complete order. And a great many other things will be wanted. We have got a boat load,” said the engineer with exhilaration, “of Indian toys and stuff. My wife’s fond of all that sort of thing. We have curios enough to set up a shop.” “Ah,” said the agent respectfully, “you have had unusual opportunities, Mr. Rowland: and ladies are so fond of picking things up.” “Yes,” said Rowland, “my wife has wonderful taste--she knows a good thing when she sees it.” “Which is very far from being a general quality,” said the appreciative agent “Mrs. Rowland, I make no doubt, will turn Rosmore into a beautiful place.” “It is a beautiful place to begin with,” said the new tenant; “and it would be a strange place that would not be improved when my wife got it into her hands,” he added with a glow of pride. He wanted much to confide to the agent that she was a lady of one of the best English families, and full of every accomplishment; but his better sense restrained him.