He enjoyed the antique chambers, the winding staircases, the lordly gallery, with its dark old portraits and vast fireplaces, the dim-lighted nooks where one could hide alone and dream away the present; but in the end, reality threw scorn upon such pleasure.

Aston Hall was a mere architectural relic, incongruous and meaningless amid its surroundings; the pathos of its desecrated dignity made him wish that it might be destroyed, and its place fittingly occupied by some People's Palace, brand new, aglare with electric light, ringing to the latest melodies of the street.

When he had long gazed at its gloomy front, the old champion of royalism seemed to shrink together, humiliated by Time's insults.
It was raining when he met Eve at the entrance.
"This won't do," were his first words.

"You can't come over in such weather as this.

If it hadn't seemed to be clearing tip an hour or two ago, I should have telegraphed to stop you." "Oh, the weather is nothing to me," Eve answered, with resolute gaiety.
"I'm only too glad of the change.