"I'm sure I don't know," said the young man somewhat ruefully, "it's a deuce of a barn, isn't it? The Erringtons always had a mania for building, and whenever they'd nothing else to do they added wings. More fools they, as it ran away with all the money and put these confounded mortgages on the property. This is a dear old place, and I'm very fond of it, but it's miles too big for us, and is a regular white elephant." "It must take a lot of money to keep it up." "It does! So much that there's none left for anything else. I wish to heaven I wasn't sentimental, or I'd pull down a lot of it." "Oh, Guy!" "Well, what is the use of all these empty rooms? It takes an army of servants to keep them clean, and for no purpose. We haven't got enough money to keep open house, or I could fill all these rooms with people I know, but what with this place, and the mortgages, and bad tenants, it's a deuce of a nuisance altogether. I wish someone would take the Hall off my hands as a museum, or an almshouse, after the style of Hampton Court." "You wouldn't sell it?" "No, I daresay I wouldn't. I can't do with it, and I can't do without it. It's a dead lock. But, if Aunt Jelly would only give up the ghost and leave us her tin, we could keep the whole shop going beautifully." "I'm afraid there's no chance of that." "No, there isn't. Aunt Jelly is one of those aggravating old women who'll see the end of the present century." "Well, that's not far off," said Alizon mischievously. "Too far off for us to get her money, my dear," replied Guy candidly. "I believe she's immortal." They left the room in which they were standing and resumed their walk through the house, stopping in the picture gallery which contained the Errington portraits, and also a number of celebrated pictures, all of which Guy contemplated ruefully. "Can't even sell these," he said with a groan. "Fancy, what humbug--they're all heirlooms, and I'd have to apply to Chancery to get permission, which I daresay they'd refuse. It takes me all my time to keep up this place and live decently, yet all this money is hanging on the wall in the shape of these pictures. It's awful bosh, just like making a child the present of a shilling on condition he doesn't spend it. Humbug!" "What! would you sell your ancestors, like Charles Surface?" "No, I wouldn't go so far as that. But these pictures are wasting their sweetness on the desert air in being shut up here, and, as I need money more than pictures, I would sell them if I could. I don't see much chance of doing so, however, for the Errington cousins--and I've got about a hundred--would come down on me as a lunatic if I did so. Hang them! I wish they'd this place to keep up on a small income, they wouldn't be so anxious to keep these miles of painted canvas. But never mind, while there's Aunt Jelly there's hope, so come along and look at the hall from the gallery. It's the best place to see it."