evening light. The sense of space fascinated her. She had always
longed for unimpeded views, for the stillness of the country. On
the smooth shaven lawns great trees were set like sentinels about
the house; fancifully she thought of them as living vigilant
keepers maintaining for centuries a perpetual guard--and smiled at
her childish imagination. Her pleasure in the prospect deepened.
Already the charm of the Towers had taken hold of her, from the
first moment she had loved it. Throughout the long railway journey
and during the five mile drive from the station, she had
anticipated, and the actuality had outstripped her anticipation.
The beauty of the park, the herds of grazing deer, had delighted
her; the old grey house itself had stayed her spellbound. She had
not imagined anything half so lovely, so impressively enduring.
She had seen nothing to compare with its fine proportions, with
the luxury of its setting. It differed utterly from the French
Chateaux where she had visited; there toil obtruded, vineyards
and rich fields of crops clustered close to the very walls of the
seigneur's dwellings, a source of wealth simply displayed; here
similar activities were banished to unseen regions, and scrupulously
kept avenues, close cut lawns and immaculate flower-beds formed
evidence of constant labour whose results charmed the eye but
were materially profitless. The formal grandeur appealed to her.
She was not altogether alien, she reflected, with a curious
smile--despite his subsequent downfall John Locke had sprung
from just such stock as the owner of this wonderful house. A
sudden panic of lateness interrupted her pleasure and she turned
from the window, calling to the dog. Her suite opened on to a
circular gallery--from which bedrooms opened--running round the
central portion of the house and overlooking the big square hall
which was lit from above by a lofty glazed dome; eastward and