He did not even remember with any distinctness
what these things were that he had been going to do.
The routine of life--as arranged and borne along by the
wise and tactful experts who wore the livery of High
Thorpe--was abundantly sufficient in itself. He slept well
now in the morning hours, and though he remained still,
by comparison, an early riser, the bath and the shaving
and slow dressing under the hands of a valet consumed
comfortably a good deal of time. Throughout the day
he was under the almost constant observation of people
who were calling him "master" in their minds, and watching
to see how, in the smallest details of deportment,
a "master" carried himself, and the consciousness of this
alone amounted to a kind of vocation. The house itself
made demands upon him nearly as definite as those of
the servants. It was a house of huge rooms, high ceilings,
and grandiose fireplaces and stairways, which had seemed
to him like a royal palace when he first beheld it,
and still produced upon him an effect of undigestible
largeness and strangeness. It was as a whole not so old
as the agents had represented it, by some centuries,
but it adapted itself as little to his preconceived notions
of domesticity as if it had been built by Druids. The task
of seeming to be at home in it had as many sides to it as
there were minutes in the day--and oddly enough, Thorpe found
in their study and observance a congenial occupation.
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