“I should be only too glad,” she said, in tones of awakened interest.  “But surely—­it would be very dull for you?”

“Not at all.  There is a great deal to be done, and in accordance with my trust I am bound to set about it,” said John.  “I propose to spend the next few days in examining the reports of the surveys that have already been made, and in judging of their accuracy for myself.  When I return here later, I could have the work begun, and then for some time I could superintend matters personally, which is always a good thing.”

“Do you mean—­the woods?” she asked.  “I know they have been neglected.  Sir Timothy would never have a tree cut down; but they are so wild and beautiful.”

“There are hundreds of pounds’ worth of timber perishing for want of attention.  I am responsible for it all until Peter comes of age,” said John, “as I am for the rest of his inheritance.  It is part of my trust to hand over to him his house and property in the best order I can, according to my own judgment.  I know something of forestry,” he added, simply; “you know I was not bred a Cockney.  I was to have been a Hertfordshire squire, on a small scale, had not circumstances necessitated the letting of my father’s house when he died.”

“But it will be yours again some day?”

“No,” said John, quietly; “it had to be sold—­afterwards.”

He gave no further explanation, but Lady Mary recollected instantly the abuse that had been showered on his mother, by her sisters-in-law, when John was reported to have sacrificed his patrimony to pay her debts.

“I rather agree with you about the woods,” she said.  “It vexes me always to see a beautiful young tree, that should be straight and strong, turned into a twisted dwarf, in the shade of the overgrowth and the overcrowding.  The woodman will be delighted; he is always grumbling.”

“It is not only the woods.  There is the house.”

“I suppose it wants repairing?” said Lady Mary.  “Hadn’t that better be put off till Peter comes home?”

“I cannot neglect my trust,” said John, gravely; “besides,” he added, “the state of the roof is simply appalling.  Many of the beams are actually rotten.  Then there are the drains; they are on a system that should not be tolerated in these days.  Nothing has been done for over sixty years, and I can hardly say how long before.”

“Won’t it all cost a great deal of money?” said Lady Mary.

“A good deal; but there is a very large sum of money lying idle, which, as the will directs, may be applied to the general improvement of the house and estate during Peter’s minority; but over which he is to have no control, should it remain unspent, until he comes of age.  That is to say, it will then—­or what is left of it—­be invested with the rest of his capital, which is all strictly tied up.  So, as old Crawley says, it will relieve Peter’s income in the future, if we spend what is necessary now, according to our powers, in putting his house and estate in order.  It would have to be done sooner or later, most assuredly.  Sir Timothy, as you must know,” said John, gently, “did not spend above a third of his actual income; and, so far as Mr. Crawley knows, spent nothing at all on repairs, beyond jobs to the village carpenter and mason.”