She is looking forward to the pleasure of welcoming you at dinner-time." * * * * * Dinner, served, out of compliment to their transatlantic visitor, in the great banqueting hall, was to Quest especially a most impressive meal.
They sat at a small round table lit by shaded lights, in the centre of an apartment which was large in reality, and which seemed vast by reason of the shadows which hovered around the unlit spaces.

From the walls frowned down a long succession of family portraits--Ashleighs in the queer Tudor costume of Henry the Seventh; Ashleighs in chain armour, sword in hand, a charger waiting, regardless of perspective, in the near distance; Ashleighs befrilled and bewigged; Ashleighs in the Court dress of the Georges--judges, sailors, statesmen and soldiers.

A collection of armour which would have gladdened the eye of many an antiquarian, was ranged along the black-panelled walls.

Everything was in harmony, even the grave precision of the solemn-faced butler and the powdered hair of the two footmen.

Quest, perhaps for the first time in his life, felt almost lost, hopelessly out of touch with his surroundings, an alien and a struggling figure.