A smile oozed out on Gradman’s face, greasy from countless mutton-chops, the smile of a man who sits all day.

“You can’t expect it, at his age, Mr. Soames.”

“Why?  What is he?  Forty?”

“Ye-es, quite a young fellow.”

“Well, put him in; but I want somebody who’ll take a personal interest.  There’s no one that I can see.”

“What about Mr. Valerius, now he’s come home?”

“Val Dartie?  With that father?”

“We-ell,” murmured Gradman, “he’s been dead seven years—­the Statute runs against him.”

“No,” said Soames.  “I don’t like the connection.”  He rose.  Gradman said suddenly: 

“If they were makin’ a levy on capital, they could come on the trustees, sir.  So there you’d be just the same.  I’d think it over, if I were you.”

“That’s true,” said Soames.  “I will.  What have you done about that dilapidation notice in Vere Street?”

“I ’aven’t served it yet.  The party’s very old.  She won’t want to go out at her age.”

“I don’t know.  This spirit of unrest touches every one.”

“Still, I’m lookin’ at things broadly, sir.  She’s eighty-one.”

“Better serve it,” said Soames, “and see what she says.  Oh! and Mr. Timothy?  Is everything in order in case of—­”

“I’ve got the inventory of his estate all ready; had the furniture and pictures valued so that we know what reserves to put on.  I shall be sorry when he goes, though.  Dear me!  It is a time since I first saw Mr. Timothy!”

“We can’t live for ever,” said Soames, taking down his hat.

“Nao,” said Gradman; “but it’ll be a pity—­the last of the old family!  Shall I take up the matter of that nuisance in Old Compton Street?  Those organs—­they’re nahsty things.”

“Do.  I must call for Miss Fleur and catch the four o’clock.  Good-day, Gradman.”

“Good-day, Mr. Soames.  I hope Miss Fleur—­”

“Well enough, but gads about too much.”

“Ye-es,” grated Gradman; “she’s young.”

Soames went out, musing:  “Old Gradman!  If he were younger I’d put him in the trust.  There’s nobody I can depend on to take a real interest.”

Leaving the bilious and mathematical exactitude, the preposterous peace of that backwater, he thought suddenly:  ’During coverture!  Why can’t they exclude fellows like Profond, instead of a lot of hard-working Germans?’ and was surprised at the depth of uneasiness which could provoke so unpatriotic a thought.  But there it was!  One never got a moment of real peace.  There was always something at the back of everything!  And he made his way toward Green Street.