“I think you do quite well to be civil to him,” said the solicitor.  “He seems to take an interest in the family, and being rich, and apparently only anxious to enhance the family prestige, you ought to know him.  Now, in reference to those mortgages on Appleby Farm, if you could get”—­

“Yes, yes!” said Sir Edward quickly; “we’ll have him down here; and, I say!  You’ll come too?”

The solicitor bowed.  “And, by the way,” continued Sir Edward, “there was a girl too,—­wasn’t there?  He has a sister, I believe?”

“Yes, but he has left her in America.”

“Ah, yes!—­very good—­yes!—­of course.  We’ll have Lord Greyshott and Sir Roger and old Lady Everton,—­she knows all about Sir Ashley and the family.  And—­er—­is he young or old?”

“About thirty, I should say, Sir Edward.”

“Ah, well!  We’ll have Lady Elfrida over from the Towers.”

Had Peter known of these preparations he might have turned back to Nonningsby without even visiting the old church in Ashley Park, which he had been told held the ashes of his ancestors.  For during these four months the conviction that he was a foreigner and that he had little or nothing in common with things here had been clearly forced upon him.  He could recognize some kinship in the manners and customs of the people to those he had known in the West and on the Atlantic coast, but not to his own individuality, and he seemed even more a stranger here—­where he had expected to feel the thrill of consanguinity—­than in the West.  He had accepted the invitation of the living Atherly for the sake of the Atherlys long dead and forgotten.  As the great quadrangle of stone and ivy lifted itself out of the park, he looked longingly towards the little square tower which peeped from between the yews nearer the road.  As the carriage drove up to the carved archway whence so many Atherlys had issued into the world, he could not believe that any of his blood had gone forth from it, or, except himself, had ever entered it before.  Once in the great house he felt like a prisoner as he wandered through the long corridors to his room; even the noble trees beyond his mullioned windows seemed of another growth than those he had known.

There was no doubt that he created a sensation at Ashley Grange, not only from his singular kinship, but from his striking individuality.  The Atherlys and their guests were fascinated and freely admiring.  His very originality, which prevented them from comparing him with any English or American standard of excellence, gave them a comfortable assurance of safety in their admiration.  His reserve, his seriousness, his simplicity, very unlike their own, and yet near enough to suggest a delicate flattery, was in his favor.  So was his naive frankness in regard to his status in the family, shown in the few words of greeting with Sir Ashley, and in his later simple yet free admissions regarding his obscure youth, his former poverty, and