Tyson--_economy_!"--he lifted a monitory finger. "All my income is
required--let me inform you at once--for what is my hobby--my passion--my
mania, if you like--the collecting of works of art. I have gradually
reduced my personal expenditures to a minimum, and it must be the same
with this estate. No useless outlay of any kind. Every sixpence will be
important to me."

"Some of the cottages are in a very bad state, Mr. Melrose."

"Paradises, I'll be bound, compared to some of the places I have been
living among, in Italy. Don't encourage people to complain; that's the
great point. Encourage them, my dear sir, to make the best of things--to
take life _cheerfully_."

Certain cottages on the estate presented themselves to the agent's mind.
He lifted his eyebrows imperceptibly, and let the subject drop, inquiring
instead whether his employer meant to reside at the Tower during the
whole or the greater part of the year.

Melrose smiled. "I shall always spend the winter
here--arranging--cataloguing--writing." Again the cigarette, held in very
long, thin fingers, described a wide semicircle in the dim light, as
though to indicate the largeness of the speaker's thoughts. "But in March
or April, I take flight from here--I return to the chase. To use a
hunting metaphor, in the summer I kill--and store. In the winter I
consume--ruminate--chew the cud. Do you follow my metaphor?"

"Not precisely," said Tyson, looking at him with a quiet antagonism. "I
suppose you mean you buy things and send them home?"