The house was of indescribable magnitude and splendour.

It had a remarkable "turret," whence, across many miles of plain, Lincoln Cathedral could be discovered by the naked eye; it had an interminable drive from the lodge to the stately portico; it had gardens of fabulous fertility; it had stables which would have served a cavalry regiment In what region were the kine of Sir Grant Musselwhite unknown to fame?
Who had not heard of his dairy-produce?
Three stories was Mr.Musselwhite in the habit or telling, scintillating fragments of his blissful youth; one was of a fox-cub and a terrier; another of a heifer that went mad; the third, and the most thrilling, of a dismissed coachman who turned burglar, and in the dead of night fired shots at old Sir Grant and his sons.

In relating these anecdotes, his eye grew moist and his throat swelled.
Mr.Musselwhite's place at table was next to Barbara Denyer.

So long as Miss Denyer was new, or comparatively new, to her neighbour's reminiscences, all went well between them.

Barbara condescended to show interest in the place in Lincolnshire; she put pertinent questions; she smiled or looked appropriately serious in listening to the three stories.