"Rather a crib from Val Prinsep, isn't it, with a suggestion of a Drury
Lane pantomime about it? Good heavens! And there's the Fairy Palace all
complete," he added, as, the mists still rising, was discovered on the
slope of the other side a long and extremely ornate building, the pure
whiteness of which was reflected in the marvellous blue and opal of the
lake. "Can that be Sir Stephen's 'little place'?"

"I'm afraid it is," said Stafford. "It looks like the governor," he
added, with a touch of gravity.

"Well, it's very big, or, rather, long; and it's very white, but one's
bound to admit that it doesn't spoil the landscape," said Howard; "in
fact, standing there amidst the dark-green trees, with its pinnacles
and terraces, it's rather an ornament than otherwise. I suppose there
are flowers on those velvety lawns; and the interior, I'll wager my
life, matches the exterior. Fortunate youth to possess a Croesus for a
father:"

"Yes; I suppose the governor must be tremendously oafish," said
Stafford.

"The man who can build such a palace as that, and have the cool cheek
to call it 'a little place,' must in common decency be a
multi-millionaire."

Stafford nodded and smoked thoughtfully for a minute as Pottinger left
the horses' heads and climbed into his seat behind, and the
mail-phaeton moved along the road, which began to dip down at this
point.