"It's Naboth's vineyard," Mr. Fentolin groaned. "Now, Mr. Hamel,
you are going to be gracious, aren't you? Let us leave the question
of your little habitation here alone for the present. Come back
with me. My niece shall give you some tea, and you shall choose
your room from forty. You can sleep in a haunted chamber, or a
historical chamber, in Queen Elizabeth's room, a Victorian chamber,
or a Louis Quinze room. All my people have spent their substance
in furniture. Don't look at your bag. Clothes are unnecessary. I
can supply you with everything. Or, if you prefer it, I can send a
fast car into Norwich for your own things. Come and be my guest,
please."

Hamel hesitated. He had not the slightest desire to go to St.
David's Hall, and though he strove to ignore it, he was conscious
of an aversion of which he was heartily ashamed for this strange
fragment of humanity. On the other hand, his mission, the actual
mission which had brought him down to these parts, could certainly
best be served by an entree into the Hall itself--and there was
the girl, whom he felt sure belonged there. He had never for a
moment been able to dismiss her from his thoughts. Her still, cold
face, the delicate perfection of her clothes and figure, the grey
eyes which had rested upon his so curiously, haunted him. He was
desperately anxious to see her again. If he refused this invitation,
if he rejected Mr. Fentolin's proffered friendship, it would be all
the more difficult.

"You are really very kind," he began hesitatingly--.

"It is settled," Mr. Fentolin interrupted, "settled. Meekins, you