"They are very foolish about it I'm sure. They've got the ridiculous
idea into their noddles that you can't be the heiress unless Lord
Deppingham passes away inside of a year, and--"

"I'm damned if I do!" roared the perspiring obstacle. "I'm not so
obliging as that, let me tell you. If it comes to that, what sort of an
ass do they think I'd be to come away out here to pass away? London's
good enough for any man to die in."

"You are not going to die, Deppy," said his wife consolingly. "Unless
you starve to death," she supplemented with an expressive moue.

"I daresay you'll find a quantity of tinned meats and vegetables in the
storehouse, my lady. You can't starve until the supply gives out.
American tinned meats," vouchsafed Mr. Bowles with his best English
grimace.

"Come along, Aggy," said her liege lord resignedly. "Let's have a look
about the place."

Mr. Saunders met them at the grand entrance. He announced that four of
the native servants had been found, dead drunk, in the wine cellar.

"They can't move, sir. We thought they were dead."

"Keep 'em in that condition, for the good Lord's sake," exclaimed
Deppingham. "We'll make sure of four servants, even if we have to keep
'em drunk for six months."