“I remember reading of your purchase,” Francis said, “and of course I remember the old mansion.  You seem to have wiped it out pretty effectually.”

“I was obliged to play the vandal,” his host confessed.  “In its previous state, the house was picturesque but uninhabitable.  As you see it now, it is an exact reproduction of the country home of one of the lesser known of the Borgias—­Sodina, I believe the lady’s name was.  You will find inside some beautiful arches, and a sense of space which all modern houses lack.  It cost me a great deal of money, and it is inhabited, when I am in Europe, about once a fortnight.  You know the river name for it?  ‘Timothy’s Folly!"’

“But what on earth made you build it, so long as you don’t care to live there?” Francis enquired.

Sir Timothy smiled reflectively.

“Well,” he explained, “I like sometimes to entertain, and I like to entertain, when I do, on a grand scale.  In London, if I give a party, the invitations are almost automatic.  I become there a very insignificant link in the chain of what is known as Society, and Society practically helps itself to my entertainment, and sees that everything is done according to rule.  Down here things are entirely different.  An invitation to The Walled House is a personal matter.  Society has nothing whatever to do with my functions here.  The reception-rooms, too, are arranged according to my own ideas.  I have, as you may have heard, the finest private gymnasium in England.  The ballroom and music-room and private theatre, too, are famous.”

“And do you mean to say that you keep that huge place empty?” Francis asked curiously.

“I have a suite of rooms there which I occasionally occupy,” Sir Timothy replied, “and there are always thirty or forty servants and attendants of different sorts who have their quarters there.  I suppose that my daughter and I would be there at the present moment but for the fact that we own this cottage.  Both she and I, for residential purposes, prefer the atmosphere there.”

“I scarcely wonder at it,” Francis agreed.

They were surrounded now by various quadrupeds.  As well as the horses, half-a-dozen of which were standing patiently by Sir Timothy’s side, several dogs had made their appearance and after a little preliminary enthusiasm had settled down at his feet.  He leaned over and whispered something in the ear of the mare who had come first.  She trotted off, and the others followed suit in a curious little procession.  Sir Timothy watched them, keeping his head turned away from Francis.

“You recognise the mare the third from the end?” he pointed out.  “That is the animal I bought in Covent Garden.  You see how she has filled out?”

“I should never have recognised her,” the other confessed.

“Even Nero had his weaknesses,” Sir Timothy remarked, waving the dogs away.  “My animals’ quarters are well worth a visit, if you have time.  There is a small hospital, too, which is quite up to date.”