Chrysanthemums, white, yellow and purple, gleamed amid the richness of the room; while the light of the solitary lamp beside which Mrs.Gaddesden had been sitting with her embroidery, blended with the orange glow from outside now streaming in through the unshuttered windows, to deepen a colour effect of extraordinary beauty, produced partly by time, partly by the conscious effort of a dozen generations.
And from the window, under the winter sunset, Mrs.Gaddesden could see, at right angles to her on either side, the northern and southern wings of the great house; the sloping lawns; the river winding through the park; the ivy-grown church among the trees; the distant woods and plantations; the purple outlines of the fells.

Just as in the room within, so the scene without was fused into a perfect harmony and keeping by the mellowing light.

There was in it not a jarring note, a ragged line--age and dignity, wealth and undisputed place: Martindale expressed them all.

The Gaddesdens had twice refused a peerage; and with contempt.

In their belief, to be Mr.Gaddesden of Martindale was enough; a dukedom could not have bettered it.