Mr. Dott wouldn't care for those, sir. Most
gentlemen don't. Perhaps, sir, you'd sit 'ere while the lady and I go
through the service portion of the 'ouse, sir."

Daniel, who was rather curious to see the "service portion," partly
because he had never heard of one before, hesitated. His wife, however,
settled the question. She was conscious of a certain condescension in
the Hapgood tone.

"Of course," she said lightly, "Cap'n Dott will not go to
the--er--service portion. Such things never interest him. Sit here,
Daniel, and wait. Now--" cutting off just in time the "Mister" that
was on the tip of her tongue and remembering how butlers in novels
were invariably addressed--"Now--er--Hapgood, you can take me to
the--ahem--kitchens."

It was somewhat disappointing to find that the plural was merely a bit
of verbal embroidery on the caretaking butler's part, and that there was
but one kitchen, situated in the basement. However, it was of good size
and well furnished with closets, the contents of which stirred Serena's
housekeeping curiosity. The inspection of the kitchen and laundry took
some time.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the dim front hall, Captain Dan sat upon a most
uncomfortable carved teak-wood chair and looked about him. Through
the doorway leading to the drawing-room--"front parlor," he would have
called it--he could see the ebony grand piano, the ormolu clock, and
the bronze statuettes on the marble mantel, the buhl cabinet filled with
bric-a-brac, the heavy mahogany-framed and silk-covered sofa. There were
oil paintings on the walls, paintings which foreign dealers, recognizing
Aunt Lavinia's art craving as a gift of Providence--to them--had sold
her at high prices. They were, for the most part, landscapes, inclining
strongly to snow-covered mountains, babbling brooks, and cows; or
marines in which one-third of vivid sunset illumined two-thirds of
placid sea. Of portraits there were two, Uncle Jim Dott in black
broadcloth and dignity and Aunt Lavinia Dott in dignity and black satin.

Captain Dan felt strangely out of place alone amid this oppressive
grandeur. Again, as on the memorable occasion of his first visit to the
house, he was conscious of his hands and feet. Aunt Lavinia's likeness,
staring stonily and paintily from the wall, seemed to regard him with
disapproval, almost as if she were reading his thoughts. If the portrait
could have spoken he might have expected it to say: "Here is the person
upon wh