The surprise in store for me was to find how much this rough-worded old man had been liked by his tenantry, his agents and servants.  I spoke of it to Janet.  ‘They loved him,’ she said.  ’No one who ever met him fairly could help loving him.’  They followed him to his grave in a body.  From what I chanced to hear among them, their squire was the man of their hearts:  in short, an Englishman of the kind which is perpetually perishing out of the land.  Janet expected me to be enthusiastic likewise, or remorseful.  She expected sympathy; she read me the long list of his charities.  I was reminded of Julia Bulsted commenting on my father, with her this he did and that.  ‘He had plenty,’ I said, and Janet shut her lips.  Her coldness was irritating.

What ground of accusation had she against me?  Our situation had become so delicate that a cold breath sundered us as far as the Poles.  I was at liberty to suspect that now she was the heiress, her mind was simply obedient to her grandada’s wish; but, as I told my aunt Dorothy, I would not do her that injustice.

‘No,’ said Dorothy; ’it is the money that makes her position so difficult, unless you break the ice.’

I urged that having steadily refused her before, I could hardly advance without some invitation now.

‘What invitation?’ said my aunt.

‘Not a corpse-like consent,’ said I.

‘Harry,’ she twitted me, ‘you have not forgiven her.’  That was true.

Sir Roderick and Lady Ilchester did not conceal their elation at their daughter’s vast inheritance, though the lady appealed to my feelings in stating that her son Charles was not mentioned in the Will.  Sir Roderick talked of the squire with personal pride:—­’Now, as to his management of those unwieldy men, his miners they sent him up the items of their complaints.  He took them one by one, yielding here, discussing there, and holding to his point.  So the men gave way; he sent them a month’s pay to reward them for their good sense.  He had the art of moulding the men who served him in his own likeness.  His capacity for business was extraordinary; you never expected it of a country gentleman.  He more than quadrupled his inheritance—­much more!’ I state it to the worthy Baronet’s honour, that although it would have been immensely to his satisfaction to see his daughter attracting the suitor proper to an heiress of such magnitude, he did not attempt to impose restriction upon my interviews with Janet:  Riversley was mentioned as my home.  I tried to feel at home; the heir of the place seemed foreign, and so did Janet.  I attributed it partly to her deep mourning dress that robed her in so sedate a womanliness, partly, in spite of myself, to her wealth.

‘Speak to her kindly of your grandfather,’ said my aunt Dorothy.  To do so, however, as she desired it, would be to be guilty of a form of hypocrisy, and I belied my better sentiments by keeping silent.  Thus, having ruined myself through anger, I allowed silly sensitiveness to prevent the repair.