those he had known in the West and on the Atlantic coast, but not to his
own individuality, and he seemed even more a stranger here--where he had
expected to feel the thrill of consanguinity--than in the West. He
had accepted the invitation of the living Atherly for the sake of the
Atherlys long dead and forgotten. As the great quadrangle of stone
and ivy lifted itself out of the park, he looked longingly towards the
little square tower which peeped from between the yews nearer the road.
As the carriage drove up to the carved archway whence so many Atherlys
had issued into the world, he could not believe that any of his blood
had gone forth from it, or, except himself, had ever entered it before.
Once in the great house he felt like a prisoner as he wandered through
the long corridors to his room; even the noble trees beyond his
mullioned windows seemed of another growth than those he had known.

There was no doubt that he created a sensation at Ashley Grange, not
only from his singular kinship, but from his striking individuality. The
Atherlys and their guests were fascinated and freely admiring. His very
originality, which prevented them from comparing him with any English
or American standard of excellence, gave them a comfortable assurance
of safety in their admiration. His reserve, his seriousness, his
simplicity, very unlike their own, and yet near enough to suggest a
delicate flattery, was in his favor. So was his naive frankness in
regard to his status in the family, shown in the few words of greeting
with Sir Ashley, and in his later simple yet free admissions regarding
his obscure youth, his former poverty, and his present wealth. He
boasted of neither; he was disturbed by neither. Standing alone, a
stranger, for the first time in an assemblage of distinguished and
titled men and women, he betrayed no consciousness; surrounded for the
first time by objects which he knew his wealth could not buy, he showed
the most unmistakable indifference,--the indifference of temperament.