BY not so much as the quiver of an eyelid did Mr. Munt betray that he had even heard, much less taken cognizance, of that which amounted to a studied insult on the part of William Hollis. The proprietor of the Duke of Wellington converged upon the gate of Strathfieldsaye with head upheld, with dignity unimpaired. He even cast one cool glance at the handiwork of the inspired Wickens, but made no comment upon it, while the artist suspended his labors, opened the gate obsequiously, and waited for the great man to pass through. But when Mr. Munt had walked along the carriage drive to within a few yards of his newly bedizened front door, he stopped all of a sudden like a man who has received a blow in the face.

Had Bill Hollis at that moment been able to obtain a glimpse of his father-in-law he would have seen that his shaft had gone right home. A sternly domineering countenance was distorted with passion. There was a rage of suffering in the fierce yellow-brown eyes, there was a twist of half strangled torment in the lines of the hard mouth. As the lord of Strathfieldsaye stood clenching his hands in the center of the gravel he was not an attractive figure. Before entering the house he took off the white hat and soothed the pressure upon head and neck by passing over them a red bandanna handkerchief.

A trim parlor maid, bright as a new pin, received the lord of Strathfieldsaye. The smart and shining creature was in harmony with her surroundings. Everything in the spacious and lofty entrance hall shone with paint and polish, with new curtains, new carpets, new fittings, new furniture.

Mr. Munt handed his hat to the parlor maid rather roughly. “Tea’s in the drawing-room, sir,” she said, calmly and modestly. It was the air of a very superior servant.

Josiah went into the drawing-room and found two ladies drinking tea and consuming cake, strawberries and cream and bread and butter. One was a depressed lady in puce silk to whom her lord paid little attention; the other was much more sprightly, although by no means in the first blush of youth. She had the air of a visitor.

Before heralding his arrival by any remark, Mr. Munt gazed with an air of genuine satisfaction round the large cool room smelling of paint and general newness, and then he said in a tone of rather grim heartiness to the more sprightly of the two ladies, “Well, Gert, what do you think on us?”

There was a careful marshaling of manner on the part of the lady addressed as Gert. “Almost too grand, Josiah—since you ask my opinion. Still I’ve been telling Maria that she must show Spirit.”

The nod of Josiah might be said to express approval. Miss Gertrude Preston was a half-sister of his wife, and she was perhaps the only woman among his strictly limited acquaintance who was able to sustain a claim to his respect. She had character and great common sense and having acted for many years as resident companion to no less a person than Lawyer Mossop’s aunt, the late Miss Selina Gregg, she had seen something of the world. Upon all subjects her views were well considered and uncommonly shrewd; therefore they were not to be passed over lightly. Aunt Gerty was a favorite of Josiah, not merely for the reason that “she knew a bit more than most,” but also because she was clever enough to play up to his rising fortunes and growing renown.

“Maria shown you round?” said Josiah, accepting a cup of tea from the graceful hands of his sister-in-law.

The depressed lady in puce silk sighed a limp yes.

“Eggshell china tea service,” Gerty fixed a purposeful eye upon Josiah’s cup.

“Out of old Nickerson’s sale,” Josiah performed an audible act of deglutition. “Four pun ten the set. Slop basin’s cracked though.”

“I see it is, but you have a bargain, Josiah. You always seem to have a bargain, no matter what you buy.”

Josiah purred under the subtle flattery.

“Seen that chayney vawse?” He pointed across the room to a pedestal upon which was a blue china bowl.

“Looks like genuine Ming,” Gertrude opened a pair of long-handled tortoiseshell glasses. There was less than a score of ladies in the whole of Blackhampton who sported glasses of that ultra-fashionable kind, but Miss Preston was one of them.

“That young feller Parish said it was genuine and he ought to know.”

“Charming,” Gerty sighed effectively; then her eyes went slowly round the room. “This room is perfect. And such a view. You stand so high that you can look right over the city without knowing that it’s there. And there’s the Sharrow beyond. Isn’t that Corfield Weir on the right?”

Rather proudly Josiah said that it was Corfield Weir.

“And that great bank of trees going up into the sky must be Dibley Chase.”

“Dibley right enough,” vouched Josiah. “Have you had a look from the tower?”

“Yes, I have. Wonderful. Maria says on a clear day you can see Cliveden Castle.”

“Aye. And a sight farther than that. You can see three counties up there. To my mind, Gert, this house stands on the plumb bit of The Rise.”

Gertrude fully agreed.

“So it ought if it comes to that. I had to pay seven and sixpence a yard for the land, before I could put a brick on it.”

Gertrude was impressed.

“What do you think o’ that oak paneling in the dining-room?”

She thought it was charming.

“Has Maria shown you the greenus—I should say conservatory—an’ the rockery—an’ the motor garidge? We haven’t got the motor yet, but it’s coming next week.”

Gertrude had seen these things. It only remained for her to enter upon a diplomatic rapture at the recital of their merits.

“No strawberries, thank you,” Josiah’s voice was rather sharp as the depressed lady tactlessly offered these delicacies at a moment when her lord was fully engaged in describing the unparalleled difficulties he had had to surmount in order to get the water fountain beyond the tennis lawn to work properly.

“Fact o’ the matter is, our Water Board wants wackenin’ up.”

“Well, you are the man to do that, Josiah. You are an alderman now.”

“I am.” The slight note of inflation was unconscious. “And old Scrimshire an’ that pettifoggin’ crew are goin’ to have a word in season from Alderman Munt.”

“Mustn’t get yourself disliked though.”

Josiah smiled sourly. “Gel,” he said, “a man worth his salt is never afraid o’ being unpopular. Right is right an’ wrong is no man’s right. Our Water Board’s got to be run on new lines. It’s a disgrace to the city.”

Miss Preston was far too wise to offer an opinion upon that matter. She knew, none better, the limits imposed by affairs upon the sex to which she belonged. But she was very shrewd and perceptive and underneath the subtle flatteries she dealt out habitually to this brother-in-law of hers was a genuine respect for great abilities and his terrific force of character.

Among all the outstanding figures in Blackhampton his was perhaps the least attractive. His name, in polite circles, was almost a byword, for he never studied the feelings of anybody; he deferred only to his own will and invariably took the shortest way to enforce it. There was generally a covert laugh or a covert sneer at the mention of his name and the house he had recently built on The Rise had set a seal upon his unpopularity. Nevertheless, the people who knew him best respected him most. His sister-in-law knew him very well indeed.

Maria poured out a second cup of tea rather nervously for Josiah to whom Miss Preston handed it archly.

“No cake, thanks. I dussent.” He tapped his chest significantly; then he cast a complacent glance through the wide-flung drawing-room windows to the fair pleasaunce beyond. “So you think, Gert, take it altogether, this is a cut above Waterloo Villa, eh?”

Gertrude’s only answer to such a question was a discreet laugh.

“Waterloo Villa was so comfortable,” sighed the depressed lady in puce silk.

“But there’s no comparison, Maria, really no comparison.” It was wonderful how the caressing touch of the woman of the world dispersed the cloud upon Josiah’s brow almost before it had time to gather.

“Of course there isn’t, Gerty. Any one with a grain o’ sense knows that. Why, only this morning as I went down in the tram with Lawyer Mossop, he said, ‘Mr. Munt, this new house of yours is quite the pick of the basket.’”

“It is, Josiah.” The discreet voice rose to enthusiasm. “And no one knows that better than Maria.”

The lady in puce silk gave a little sigh and a little sniff. “Waterloo Villa was quite good enough for me,” she murmured tactlessly.

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