chintzes on the chairs. There are old hunting scenes on the wall. Not copies of English things, but sketches done in color by the man who owns the place. And, Crispin, there was one of father and mother among the guests at a hunt breakfast. Merry said that was why he took me there. He wanted me to see it. He said that father had tried to buy the picture, but that old Christopher wouldn't sell. He won't sell any of them, and there are so many famous people that his collection is extremely valuable.
"We are to have dinner at Sally's on election night. It seems so strange to be in the midst of things as we are. Father's friends are men we've always read about, and he calls them by their first names. Politics are still a gentlemanly tradition in this old county, and a lot of my ancestors held public office. Father will be dreadfully disappointed if his candidate loses this election, not only because he has some personal matters involved, but because he will feel keenly the defeat of his party.
"Oh, I wish you were here, Crispin, to talk about the new things that are coming into my life. Sometimes you seem so far away, and the old life seems so far—and mother seems the farthest of all. And I have no one to lean on, or ask things. Yet father and I are, really, the best of friends. Sometimes he talks to me about mother, and I really think he cares a lot. He gave me a lacquer cabinet that was hers—the little red box that she left me belongs to it. The cabinet stands in a dark corner of the library, and is very old, and on top of it is a cat of rock crystal made into a lamp. The light flows down over the red and gold of
