Interviews with Herresford were generally carried on in Trimmer's presence, but, although the old man frequently referred to Trimmer in his arguments and quarrels, the valet acutely avoided asserting himself beyond the bounds of the strictest decorum while visitors were present. But, when they were gone, Trimmer's iron personality showed itself in a quiet hectoring, which made him the other's master. Mr. Trimmer was financially quite independent of his employer's ill humors. He was wealthy, and his name was mentioned by the other servants with 'bated breath. He was the owner of three saloons which he had bought from time to time. In short, Mr. Trimmer was a moneyed man. His was one of those strange natures which work in grooves and cannot get out of them. Nothing but the death of Herresford would persuade him to break the continuity of his service. His master might storm, and threaten, and dismiss him. It always came to nothing. Mr. Trimmer went on as usual, treating the miser as a child, and administering his affairs, both financial and domestic, with an iron hand. Never before had he taken a holiday, and on his return there was much anxiety. The servants at the Hall had hoped that he was really discharged, at last. But no, he came back, smiling sardonically, and, as he entered the front door--not the servants' entrance--his eye roved everywhere in search of backsliding. Mrs. Ripon met him in the hall with a forced smile and a greeting, but she dared not offer to shake hands with the great man. "Anything of importance since I have been away?" asked Mr. Trimmer. "Yes, Mr. Trimmer. Mr. Herresford has changed his bedroom." "Humph! We'll soon alter that," murmured Trimmer. "That's what I told him, Mr. Trimmer. I said you'd be annoyed, and that he'd have to go back when you returned." "Just so, just so! Any trouble with his family?" "Mr. Dick--I daresay you have heard." "I've heard nothing." "Dead--killed in the war." "Dead! Well, to be sure." "Yes, poor boy--killed." "Dear, dear!" murmured Mr. Trimmer, growing meditative. Mrs. Ripon knew what he was thinking--or imagined that she did. There was no one now to inherit Herresford's money but Mrs. Swinton, and she believed that Trimmer was wondering how much of it he would get for himself; for it was a popular delusion below stairs that Mr. Trimmer had mesmerized his master into making a will in his favor, leaving him everything. "How did Mr. Dick get away?" asked Mr. Trimmer. "Surely, his creditors wouldn't let him go." "Ah, now you have touched the sore point, Mr. Trimmer. The poor young man swindled--yes, swindled the bank, forged checks in his grandfather's name." Mr. Trimmer allowed some human expression to creep into his stone face. He puckered his brows, and his usually marble-smooth forehead showed unexpected wrinkles. "It was the very last thing we'd have believed, Mr. Trimmer; it was for seven thousand dollars."