Thus it came about. Lady Caroline was sitting half buried in a big soft easy-chair before the library fire, presumably enjoying _Othello_, but really watching her brother's secretary, who was busily transcribing from a big black-letter volume before him some of the glorious deeds of her remote ancestry. Raising his eyes after one of his pen-dips, Joyce met Lady Caroline's glance fixed straight upon him, and said-- "Thinking of Iago's subtlety, Lady Caroline, or Desdemona's innate weakness? The former, I should say, judging from your expression." "My expression must be very poor, then, Mr. Joyce, or your powers of reading expression must be extremely limited. I was thinking of something totally different." "May one ask of what?" He had had a long day at the chronicles of the West family, and a little relief was absolutely necessary. "Oh dear, yes; my thoughts were certainly not to be marked 'confidential' or even 'private.' I was thinking about our going back to town." "Oh, indeed! Is that imminent?" "I should say certainly. Parliament meets within a fortnight, and West, I mean Lord Hetherington, never misses that. Lady Hetherington won't let him go alone, and once in Beaufort Square, I suppose they'll stop on." "I suppose so. This house will seem wonderfully different when you have all left it." "Naturally. Deserted houses must be different to those filled with company, though their actual appearance is of course only known to the housekeeper who is left in them, and housekeepers seldom give their impressions to the world." "If you are interested in the subject, perhaps you will permit me to give you a faithful photograph of Westhope in its dismantled state." "Evolved from your inner graciousness, like the German's idea of the camel?" "On the contrary, drawn in the minutest detail from personal observation. The exact position of the pen which Lord Hetherington threw down after signing his last cheque for Mr. Deacon, the steward, the state of the withering hothouse flowers left by her ladyship on her table in the drawing-room, the vacant chair in the library once filled by----" "Thanks, that's enough! I won't trouble you to be poetical, Mr. Joyce; that will be wanted one day at Helmingham, I suppose, and it's never wise to be extravagant with one's ideas. But you don't mean to say you think you will be left behind here, at Westhope, when the family returns to town?" "Assuredly, Lady Caroline! How else should I be able to make any progress with my work?"