alf an hour ago had departed, and she looked a
creature of steel and flame; a vital, indomitable being, tingling with
energy and joy. At sight of the forest of chimney pots stretching away
into the horizon, her eyes shone with an enthusiasm which the wonders of
the cathedral had failed to inspire. To Guest the outlook was
dreariness personified; the vastness which so impressed his companion
conveyed to him only a realisation of work and struggle; of a pent-house
in which human creatures struggled for existence. He stood in silence,
while Cornelia exhausted her supply of adjectives, brooding on the
difference in the standpoints from which each regarded life, until
presently she interrupted with a personal question.

"You have never told me where you live, Captain Guest! London is not
your real home, is it?"

"Thank goodness, no! I could never live in a city. My home is in the
country--Staffordshire. It was a valuable property fifty or sixty years
ago, but the factories have crept nearer and nearer, and, of course,
that depreciates values. It is let at present. I hope to save enough
money to go back in time to end my days there. It's a fine old place,
but its value is bound to go on dropping."

"Couldn't you pull it down, and build small property on the site? If
there are factories about it might pay vury well."

Guest's look of stupefaction, incredulity, of horror, could scarcely
have been greater if Cornelia had suggested a leap down to the street
beneath. "Good heavens! what an idea! You can't realise what you are
talking about, Miss Briskett. That house has been in the possession of
my family since the time of the Tudors!"

Cornelia elevated indifferent eyebrows. "I don't know as that's any
reason why you should drop money on it now! I wouldn't take any stock
of Toodors beside my own convenience. It's better to own a house you
ken live in, than the Garden of Eden, and be obliged to rent it out!"

"There is such a thing as sentiment, Miss Briskett, though you don't
seem to realise it."

"Don't you make any mistake about that! I realise it right enough. I'm
death on sentiment in its right place, but it takes a back seat when
daily bread comes into the question."

"And if I told you that I'd rather starve than desecrate the home of my
ancestors--that I'd sooner end my days in a London garret than level a
single wall for my own benefit--what then? Would you put me down as a
madman for my pains