Chivers crept solemnly away, as if to bury his dead, which he consigned, with dumb rites, to a situation of honourable publicity; then, as he came back, he replied without elation: “Miss Prodmore is here, mum. She’s having her tea.” This, for his friend, was a confirmatory touch to be fitted with eagerness into the picture. “Yes, that’s exactly it--they’re always having their tea!” “With Mr. Prodmore--in the morning-room,” the old man supplemented. “Captain Yule’s in the garden.” “Captain Yule?” “The new master. He’s also just arrived.” The wonderful lady gave an immediate “Oh!” to the effect of which her silence for another moment seemed to add. “She didn’t tell me about _him_.” “Well, mum,” said Chivers, “it do be a strange thing to tell. He had never--like, mum--so much as seen the place.” “Before today--his very own?” This too, for the visitor, was an impression among impressions, and, like most of her others, it ended after an instant as a laugh. “Well, I hope he likes it!” “I haven’t seen many, mum,” Chivers boldly declared, “that like it as much as _you_.” She made with her handsome head a motion that appeared to signify still deeper things than he had caught. Her beautiful wondering eyes played high and low, like the flight of an imprisoned swallow, then, as she sank upon a seat, dropped at last as if the creature were bruised with its limits. “I should like it still better if it were _my_ very own!” “Well, mum,” Chivers sighed, “if it wasn’t against my duty I could wish indeed it were! But the Captain, mum,” he conscientiously added, “is the lawful heir.” It was a wonder what she found in whatever he said; he touched with every word the spring of her friendly joy. “That’s another of your lovely old things--I adore your lawful heirs!” She appeared to have, about everything that came up, a general lucid vision that almost glorified the particular case. “He has come to take possession?” Chivers accepted, for the credit of the house, this sustaining suggestion. “He’s a-taking of it now.” This evoked, for his companion, an instantaneous show. “What does he do and how does he do it? Can’t I _see_?” She was all impatience, but she dropped to disappointment as her guide looked blank. “There’s no grand fuss----?” “I scarce think him, mum,” Chivers with propriety hastened to respond, “the gentleman to make any about anything.” She had to resign herself, but she smiled as she thought. “Well, perhaps I like them better when they don’t!” She had clearly a great range of taste, and it all came out in the wistfulness with which, before the notice apparently served on her, she prepared to make way. “I also”--she lingered and sighed--“have taken possession!” Poor Chivers really rose to her. “It was you, mum,” he smiled, “took it first!” She sadly shook her head. “Ah, but for a poor little hour! _He’s_ for life.”