The great, round tower of the original Norman keep was still there, connected with the walls of the later house, a large, wandering edifice built at all periods from that epoch upwards, and culminating in a shocking early-Victorian Gothic wing and porch.
"I think we shall pull that wretched bit down some time," he said to himself.

"Zara must have good taste--she could not look so well in her clothes, if she had not." His thoughts were continually for her, and what she would be likely to wish; and, in the evening, when he sat alone in his own sanctum after a hard day with electricians and work-people, he would gaze into the blazing logs and dream.
The new electric light was not installed yet, and only the big, old lamps lit the shadowy oak panelling.

There in a niche beside the fireplace was the suit of armor which another Tristram Guiscard had worn at Agincourt.

What little chaps they had been in those days in comparison with himself and his six feet two inches! But they had been great lords, his ancestors, and he, too, would be worthy of the race.
There were no wars just now to go to and fight for his country--but he would fight for his order, with his uncle, the Duke, that splendid, old specimen of the hereditary legislator.

Francis Markrute who was a good judge had said that he had made some decent speeches in the House of Lords already, and he would go on and do his best, and Zara would help him.