give old ladies a ride, allowed people to pick flowers in his garden, adored showing people his collections. I happened to be in Milton during the rest of that year looking after my little property, and he seemed to take to me. I was up at Haxt a good deal.
"Looking back now I can see that I never really liked him. I was aware of my caution and laughed at myself for it. I liked pretty things, you know, and I loved his jade and emeralds, and still more his prints. And he knew so much and was never tired of telling me and never seemed to laugh at one's ignorance.
"He was, as I have said, all the talk that summer. It was 'Mr. Crispin' this and 'Mr. Crispin' that—Mr. Crispin everything. The men didn't take to him much, but of course they wouldn't! They had always thought me a bit queer because I liked reading and played the piano. The first thing that people didn't like about him was his son. That beauty arrived at Haxt somewhere in September, and everybody hated him. I ask you, could you help it? And he was the exact opposite of his father. He didn't try to make himself agreeable to anybody—simply went about scowling and frowning. But it wasn't that that people disliked—it was his relation to his father. He was absolutely in his father's power—that is the only way to put it—and there was something despicable, some-
