‘You haven’t read them, apparently.’ ‘I have not. I’ve been always going to read them, but I haven’t opened one of them yet.’ ‘Then I recommend you--that is, if you care for an interesting piece of family history--to read those letters carefully, that is constructively.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean--putting two and two together, and seeing what comes of it; trying to make everything fit into one, you know.’ ‘Yes. I understand you. But how do you happen to know that those letters contain a history, or that it will prove interesting when I have found it?’ ‘All family history ought to be interesting--at least to the last of his race,’ he returned, replying only to the latter half of my question.’ It must, for one thing, make him feel his duty to his ancestors more strongly.’ ‘His duty to marry, I suppose you mean?’ I said with some inward bitterness. ‘But to tell the truth, I don’t think the inheritance worth it in my case.’ ‘It might be better,’ he said, with an expression which seemed odd beside the simplicity of the words. ‘Ah! you think then to urge me to make money; and for the sake of my dead ancestors increase the inheritance of those that may come after me? But I believe I am already as diligent as is good for me--that is, in the main, for I have been losing time of late.’ ‘I meant no such thing, Mr Cumbermede. I should be very doubtful whether any amount of success in literature would enable you to restore the fortunes of your family.’ ‘Were they so very ponderous, do you think? But in truth I have little ambition of that sort. All I will readily confess to is a strong desire not to shirk what work falls to my share in the world.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, in a thoughtful manner--‘if one only knew what his share of the work was.’ The remark was unexpected, and I began to feel a little more interest in him. ‘Hadn’t you better take a copy of that entry?’ he said. ‘Yes--perhaps I had. But I have no materials.’ It did not strike me that attorneys do not usually, like excise-men, carry about an ink-bottle, when he drew one from the breast-pocket of his coat, along with a folded sheet of writing-paper, which he opened and spread out on the desk. I took the pen he offered me, and copied the entry. When I had finished, he said-- ‘Leave room under it for the attestation of the parson. We can get that another time, if necessary. Then write, “Copied by me”--and then your name and the date. It may be useful some time. Take it home and lay it with your grandmother’s papers.’ ‘There can be no harm in that,’ I said, as I folded it up, and put it in my pocket. ‘I am greatly obliged to you for bringing me here, Mr Coningham. Though I am not ambitious of restoring the family to a grandeur of which every record has departed, I am quite sufficiently interested in its history, and shall consequently take care of this document.’ ‘Mind you read your grandmother’s papers, though,’ he said. ‘I will,’ I answered.