It is said that the consummation of our schemes generally brings with it a share of disappointment. It did so in this instance to Lady Godolphin. The Folly turned out to be a really pretty place; the views from its windows magnificent; and Lady Godolphin was as enchanted as a child with a new toy. The disappointment arose from the fact that she could not make the Folly her home. After spending a morning in it, or an evening, she must leave it to return to that grey Ashlydyat--the only eyesore to be seen, when gazing from the Folly's windows. If a day turned out wet, she could not walk to the Folly; if she was expecting visitors she must stay at home to receive them; if Sir George felt ill--and his health was then beginning to suffer--she could not leave him for her darling Folly. It was darling because it was new: in six months' time, Lady Godolphin would have grown tired of it; have rarely entered it: but in her present mood, it was all-in-all to her. Slowly she formed the resolution to enlarge the Folly--slowly for her, for she deliberated upon it for two whole days. She would add "a reception-room or two," "a bedroom or two," "a kitchen," so that she might be enabled, when she chose to do so, to take up her abode in it for a week. And these additions were begun. But they did not end; did not end as she had intended. As the Folly grew, so grew the ideas of Lady Godolphin: there must be a suite of reception-rooms, there must be several bedrooms, there must be domestic offices in proportion. Sir George told her that she would spend a fortune upon it; my lady answered that, at any rate, she should have something to show for the outlay. At length it was completed: and Lady Godolphin's Folly--for it retained its appellation--stood out to the view of Prior's Ash, which it overlooked; to the view of Ashlydyat; to the view of the country generally, as a fair, moderate-sized, attractive residence, built in the villa style, its white walls dazzling the eye when the sun shone upon them. "We will reside there, and let Ashlydyat," said Lady Godolphin to her husband. "Reside at the Folly! Leave Ashlydyat!" he repeated, in consternation. "It could not be." "It will be," she added, with a half self-willed, half-caressing laugh. "Why could it not be?" Sir George fell into a reverie. He admired the modern conveniences of the Folly, greatly admired the lovely scenery, that, look from which room of it he would, charmed his eye. But for one thing, he had been content to do as she wished, and go to live there. That one thing--what was it? Hear the low-breathed, reluctant words he is beginning to say to Lady Godolphin. "There is an old tradition in our family--a superstition I suppose you will call it--that if the Godolphins leave Ashlydyat, their ruin is at hand."