seem to come half way down the hill. And when I was a boy I had much
more respect for my aunt's red-brick house in Perivale than I had for
Aylmer Park.'

'And now it's your own.'

'Yes; now it's my own and all my respect for it is gone. I used to
think the Creevy the best river in England for fish; but I wouldn't
give a sixpence now for all the perch I ever caught in it.'

'Perhaps your taste for perch is gone also.'

'Yes; and my taste for jam. I never believed in the store-room at
Aylmer Park as I did in my aunt's store-room here.'

'I don't doubt but what it is full now.'

'I dare say; but I shall never have the curiosity even to inquire. Ah,
dear I wish I knew what to do about the house.'

'You won't sell it, I suppose?'

'Not if I could either live in it, or let it. It would be wrong to let
it stand idle.'

'But you need not decide quite at once.'

'That's just what I want to do. I want to decide at once.'

'Then I'm sure I cannot advise you. It seems to me very unlikely that