small vase of flowers--autumnal roses--the only flowers in the
room.

But the various untidy accumulations, most of which seemed to be of
old standing, had been evidently just added to by some recent
arrivals. Four large packing-cases, newly opened, took up much of
what free space was left on the floor. The straw, paper, and
cottonwool, in which their contents had been packed, had been tossed
out with a careless or impatient hand, and littered the carpet.
Among the litter stood here and there some Greek vases of different
sizes; in particular, a superb pair, covered with figures; beside
which stood the owner of Mannering, talking to an apparently young
man with an eye-glass, who was sitting on the floor closely
examining the vases. The Squire turned a furrowed brow towards his
approaching visitor, and putting down a small bronze he had been
holding raised a warning hand.

'How do you do, Chicksands? Very sorry, but I'm much too filthy to
touch. And I'm horribly busy! These things arrived last night, and
Mr. Levasseur has kindly come over to help me unpack them. Don't
know if you've met him. Mr. Levasseur--Sir Henry Chicksands.'

The man on the floor looked up carelessly, just acknowledging Sir
Henry's slight inclination. Sir Henry's inner mind decided against
him--at once--instinctively. What was a stout fellow, who at any
rate _looked_ as though he were still of military age, doing with
nonsense of this sort, at four o'clock in the day, when England
wanted every able-bodied man she possessed, either to fight for her
or to work for her? At the same time the reflection passed rapidly
through his mind that neither the man nor the name had come up--so