’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. “I should make sure that he doesn’t try to drive himself home. The Times slipped from his fingers. You act your part capitally, but it won't do.
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