So, for that matter, did every other room, to say nothing of the stairs which were carpetless. The house was not quite a wreck; but one felt oneself instinctively quoting lines from Tennyson’s “Mariana” as one stood--it was scarcely safe to sit--in any of the rooms. There were bald patches upon some of the walls that had some time--long ago--been painted; but as a sort of compensation for this deficiency, as a member of the party remarked when it was pointed out to him there were several patches on the wall that were not bald but quite the contrary; for indeed the mildew had been at work increasing the forlorn appearance of the place. But the new proprietor was very proud of everything--of the patches on the wall that marked where the plaster had become dislodged--of the hirsute patches that had been subject to the damp--of the bullet marks that he considered the visible signs of the duel fought with swords--nay, even of the rat that went scurrying across a room which he called the library, the moment the door was opened. Oh, there were plenty of rats, he declared--some fine fat healthy animals; he talked of them as though they were part of the live stock of the estate. And in the drawing-room, after a depressing ramble through the dreary house, tea was served by a couple of elderly women (local) and it was certainly not deficient in strength. Neither was the cake (local) nor the china. Young Mr. Overton was already making a heroic attempt to introduce a scheme of economy that should tend to lessen the dead weight of the expense to which he had been put in purchasing the historic house. Some members of the party wished that he had gone a little further in the same direction and had refrained from forcing his _recherché_ entertainment upon them. They swallowed a portion of the black tea, however, and congratulating him upon the appearance of everything--for any one who was fond of developing a property, as he assured them he was, the state of the house and grounds left nothing to be desired--wondered secretly why he should have asked them to visit such a scene of desolation. If Amber was among those who marvelled what his motive could be, her doubts were dispelled when she found herself alone with him at one of the drawingroom windows: the other members of the party had made their escape to the field of grass called by a daring figure of speech, a lawn; but she had allowed herself to be persuaded to sample, so to speak, a view from a side window. She admitted that the silver of the river gleaming between the yew hedges was very effective, and felt convinced that it would be improved by a judicious trimming of the shrubs. “And you like the old place?” said he. “It has surprised you, hasn’t it?” “Surprised me?--well,--oh, yes, it certainly surprised me,” she replied. “You are looking forward to a delightful time with it, are you not? I suppose it wouldn’t have had the same attraction for you if it had been in any better condition?”