Then he would have such a length of credit—­a year at least—­and nowadays a shopkeeper, though sure of his money, cannot wait long for it.  But to ask for the account was to give mortal offence.  The bill would be paid with the remark, intended to be intensely sarcastic, ’Suppose you thought we was a-going to run away—­eh?’ and the door would never again be darkened by those antique breeches and gaiters.  As for the common run of ordinary farmers, their wives bought a good deal, but wanted it cheap and, looking at the low price of corn and the ‘paper’ there was floating about, it did not do to allow a long bill to be run up.  But the Grange people—­ah! the Grange people put some life into the place.  ’Money! they must have heaps of money’ (lowering his voice to a whisper).  ’Why, Mrs. ——­ brought him a fortune, sir; why, she’s got a larger income than our squire’ (as if it were, rank treason to say so).  ’Mr. ——­ has got money too, and bless you, they holds their heads as high as their landlord’s, and good reason they should.  They spend as much in a week as the squire do in a month, and don’t cheapen nothing, and your cheque just whenever you like to ask for it.  That’s what I calls gentlefolks.’  For till and counter gauge long descent, and heraldic quarterings, and ancestral Crusaders, far below the chink of ready money, that synonym for all the virtues.

The Grange people, indeed, are so conspicuous, that there is little secrecy about them or their affairs.  The house they reside in—­it cannot be called a farmstead—­is a large villa-like mansion of recent erection, and fitted with every modern convenience.  The real farmstead which it supplanted lies in a hollow at some distance, and is occupied by the head bailiff, for there are several employed.  As the architecture of the villa is consonant with modern ‘taste,’ so too the inferior is furnished in the ‘best style,’ of course under the supervision of the mistress.  Mrs. ——­ has filled it with rosewood and ormolu, with chairs completely gilt, legs, back, seat, and all, with luxurious ottomans, ‘occasional’ tables inlaid with mother-o’-pearl, soft carpets, polished brazen grate-fittings, semi-ecclesiastical, semi-mediaeval, and so forth.

Everywhere the glitter of glass, mirrors over the mantelpieces, mirrors let into panels, glass chiffoniers, and pendent prisms of glass round the ornamental candlesticks.  Mixed with this some of the latest productions of the new English Renaissance—­stiff, straight-back, plain oak chairs, such as men in armour may have used—­together with Japanese screens.  In short, just such a medley of artistic styles as may be seen in scores of suburban villas where money is of little account, and even in houses of higher social pretensions.  There is the usual illustrated dining-room literature, the usual bric-a-brac, the usual cabinet series of poets.  There are oil paintings on the walls; there is an immense amount of the most expensive electroplate on the dinner table; the toilet accessories in the guest chambers are ‘elegant’ and recherche.  The upholsterer has not been grudged.