VI
On the first floor of Gorston Hall a long passage led to a big room overlooking the front drive. It
was a room furnished in the more flamboyant¹ of old-fashioned styles. It had heavy brocaded
wallpaper, rich leather armchairs, large vases embossed with dragons, sculptures in bronze . . .
Everything in it was magnificent, costly² and solid.
In a big grandfather armchair, the biggest and most imposing³ of all the chairs, sat the thin,
shrivelled figure of an old man. His long clawlike hands rested on the arms of the chair. A gold-
mounted stick was by his side. He wore an old shabby blue dressing⁴ gown. On his feet were carpet
slippers⁵. His hair was white and the skin of his face was yellow.
A shabby, insignificant⁶ figure, one might have thought. But the nose, aquiline⁷ and proud, and
the eyes, dark and intensely alive, might cause an observer to alter his opinion. Here was fire and
life and vigour⁸.
Old Simeon Lee cackled to himself, a sudden, high cackle of amusement.
He said:
“You gave my message to Mrs. Alfred, hey?”
Horbury was standing⁹ beside his chair. He replied in his soft deferential¹⁰ voice:
“Yes, sir.”
“Exactly in the words I told you? Exactly, mind?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t make a mistake, sir.”
“No—you don’t make mistakes. You’d better not make mistakes either—or you’ll regret it!
And what did she say, Horbury? What did Mr. Alfred say?”

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