Your father was so proud of it.

'It's as like a hydro as a private house can be,' he often said, in such a contented voice.

He just liked to walk round and look at all the contrivances he had planned, all the hot-rails and things in the bathrooms and cloakrooms, and radiators in every room, and the wonderful pantries--'tippy,' he called them.

He couldn't understand people making a fuss about old houses, and old furniture, grey walls half tumbling down and mouldy rooms.

He liked the new look of The Towers, and he said to me, 'Mind, Aggie, I'm not going to let you grow any nonsense like ivy or creepers up this fine new house.