To such gifts he was not used.  Already he had given twenty-six pounds that day.  The spectacle of Jimmy ascending the state staircase of Wilbraham Hall with all the abounding figure of Mrs. Prockter on his arm would have drawn crowds had it been offered to the public at sixpence a head.

They inspected the great drawing-room, the great dining-room, the great bedroom, and all the lesser rooms; the galleries, the balconies, the panellings, the embrasures, the suites and suites and suites of Georgian and Victorian decaying furniture; the ceilings and the cornices; the pictures and engravings (of which some hundreds remained); the ornaments, the clocks, the screens, and the microscopic knick-knacks.  Both of them lost count of everything, except that before they reached the attics they had passed through forty-five separate apartments, not including linen closets.  It was in one of the attics, as empty as Emanuel’s head, that they discovered Emanuel and Helen, gazing at a magnificent prospect over the moorlands, with the gardens, the paddock, and Wilbraham Water immediately beneath.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Helen burst out.  “Oh, Mrs. Prockter, do come with me to the end of the corridor, and look at three old distaffs that I’ve found in a cupboard!”

During the absence of the women, James Ollerenshaw contradicted himself to Emanuel for the sweet sake of Emanuel’s stepmother.  Little by little they descended to the earth, with continual detours and halts by Helen, who was several times lost and found.

“I’ve told him,” said James, quietly and proudly.  “I’ve told him it’s no use to you unless you want to turn it into a building estate.”

They separated into two couples at the gate, with elaborate formalities on the part of Emanuel, which Uncle James more or less tried to imitate.

“Well?” murmured James, sighing relief, as they waited for the electric tram in that umbrageous and aristocratic portion of the Oldcastle-road which lies nearest to the portals of Wilbraham Hall.  He was very pleased with himself, because, at the cost of his own respect, he had pleased Mrs. Prockter.

“Well?” murmured Helen, in response, tapping on the edge of the pavement the very same sunshade in whose company James had first made her acquaintance.  She seemed nervous, hesitating, apprehensive.

“What about that house as ye’ve so kindly chosen for me?” he asked, genially.  He wanted to humour her.

She looked him straight in the eyes.  “You’ve seen it,” said she.

“What!” he snorted.  “When han I seen it?”

“Just now,” she replied.  “It’s Wilbraham Hall.  I knew that Mrs. Prockter wouldn’t have it.  And, besides, I’ve made Emanuel give up all idea of it.”

He laughed, but with a strange and awful sensation in his stomach.

“A poor joke, lass!” he observed, with the laugh dead in his throat.

“It isn’t a poor joke,” said she.  “It isn’t a joke at all.”