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Right, which belong to all that side of our family, together with the red hair, the blue eyes, the brilliant complexion. My great-uncle Joshua Milner, who was her brother, had them all too—only, of course, stronger because he was a man.
    So though anything that had passed between my great-uncle Joshua Milner and my grandfather Thomas Hallam in their early days may or may not have been known to my mother and grandmother, it certainly was not passed on to me. All my mother told me was that my great-uncle Joshua was rich, owned a large mill, was married in second wedlock to a very handsome woman, great-aunt Ada—who though as handsome as a gipsy was unfortunately not quite what in those late Victorian times was called a lady—and that the pair had a beautiful daughter, Kate, who inherited her father’s temper and her mother’s long rich dark hair and brilliant dark eyes. Great-uncle Joshua adored his daughter; his wealth was made for her. (His first marriage had been disastrous in respect of children; two miscarriages and an early death.)
    My grandfather Thomas Hallam, on the contrary, was one of those deceptively mild men who never shout or make scenes, but as life progresses are found to have natures as firm and unyielding as the millstone-grit of their own Pennines. He too had a beautiful daughter—my mother; whom in his turn he adored. For his Lucy, with her gloriouschestnut hair, blue eyes, fair complexion, deliciously small and well shaped body, nothing was too good.
    My grandfather’s antecedents were unknown in the West Riding; he first impinged on the public consciousness, so to speak, when he suddenly appeared as the “representative” and presently “acting manager” of Messrs Joshua Milner. He was regarded then as an up and coming young man with pleasant manners, but not too soft for his own good, and when he courted and presently married Joshua’s sister, Ada, who was several years older than himself, the match was thought very suitable, advantageous to Hallam in the worldly sense but not so much so as to excite severe comment. He bought presently a house, Number 3 Hill Road, on the slope of the hill above Joshua’s substantial and always increasing mill, and lived there apparently happily with a rather fierce though loyal and handsome wife and his real beauty of a little daughter, my mother Lucy.
    Thomas Hallam was a good salesman. Honest but agreeable, he knew nothing of cloth when he arrived in the West Riding, people said, but after all Joshua Milner knew everything about cloth, and Hallam soon learned. In top hat, morning coat and lemon kid gloves, then the customary attire to do business in London, his Dundreary whiskers well brushed, his smile pleasant, his word reliable, he often made customers in the metropolis. All this was common knowledge, open to all, and that there were sometimes tiffs between the two men on details of management was no doubt also fairly well known in Annotsfield—but not much regarded, for in the West Riding men were apt to speak their minds. There was a story for instance that once on Hallam’s return from the capital Joshua shouted at him in such fury about the prices he had accepted that Hallam urged him to conduct the rest of the interview in Joshua’s mansion, which, as was so often the case in those days, stood just to one side of the mill.
    â€œNo reason for all Annotsfield to hear our prices,” said Hallam mildly.
    â€œThat’s right,” agreed Joshua. “You’ve some sense, Tom,” and he led the way across the mill yard, where several men stood grinning, enjoying the scene. But he spoke grudgingly, and when he reached his own dining room in Milne Thorpe where a large round table stood laden with all the eatables for a Yorkshire high tea—ham and jam, scones and buttered toast and cake darkly heavy with fruit—observing that his wife had set an extra cup for his brother-in-law, his