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should turn against me, I suspected that he would sever the link between us without a qualm. I was therefore responsive to his moods, and ever on my guard. It had often been remarked of me that I had the capacity to please. At school, at Oxford, and on my travels I had adapted myself to those I met and made friends readily. Mr. Gilbert would hardly have carried his patronage so far had he not found something agreeable in my disposition. Such kindliness as I had elicited I hoped I could sustain.
    I was further encouraged by a deeper and perhaps darker reflection. In several ways, after all, I had the advantage of the old gentleman. I was young and free-spirited, physically strong. If Mr. Gilbert was quick-witted, then so, I flattered myself, was I. Moreover, by virtue of my youth, my education, and my travels, I might be open to modes of thought that he could not anticipate. If he chose to continue in his course of benevolence, he would find me tractable and appreciative. If, for whatever reason, he was planning to dispose of my life in a manner at odds with my disposition, we would be commencing a chess game in which I would hope to hold my own.
    We dined together every night, pretty comfortably as it seemed to me, but with no discernible progress toward greater intimacy. Our talk was easy and even lively, but Mr. Gilbert said little that was personal. For my part I endeavored to be entertaining, but was watchful for any hints of inquisition or irony and quick to deflect them with inconsequence or with ironies of my own. Though nothing of moment passed between us, I was satisfied that this time spent together would not lower my godfather’s estimation of my abilities.
    A n aspect of his conversation with which I found myself in instinctive harmony was his habit of moving unexpectedly from civil commonplaces to eccentric speculation. There was an instance of this kind when he asked me what impressions I had formed concerning his estate. Wishing to please, I remarked that within its boundaries there seemed to be order, cultivation, and contentment. If other landlords were similarly capable and benign, I asked, might we flatter ourselves that in the course of time the whole country might come to enjoy this state of harmony?
    “I think that unlikely,” he said. “We strive for progress, but even our best attempts produce consequences at odds with our intention.”
    “But surely, sir,” I urged, “the building of this great house could be seen as an absolute gain. Here is an outpost of civilized life. Within its walls certain standards of conduct and taste are upheld.”
    I strove to speak in the grave manner of one who would maintain such standards.
    My godfather, in a habitual gesture, paused, glass in hand, to consider my observation, and then savored a sip of wine before replying.
    “Every building is under siege, this house not excepted. In providing privacy and protection for yourself, you offer lodging space for intruders. Mice have made their home beneath the floorboards. To control them we introduced cats. In summer you will see flies buzzing about the food, and moths blundering into lamps. Spiders lurk in corners. Birds nest in the chimneys. Moss takes root in the walls.”
    Absorbed in these reflections, he paused, sipped again, and then continued.
    “Similar effects are everywhere observable. Even a beggar’s shirt provides a tenement for fleas.”
    I recalled my reflections about the servants below stairs, but thought it graceless to pursue the analogy.
    “You are a philosopher, sir.”
    “I have no such pretensions. I improvise. I make do.”
    “You may say so, but I have seen optical instruments, shelves of learned books . . .”
    “I have dabbled in this and that. I know a little about the flora and fauna of the county. Here my interests intersect with those of Yardley, though he is better informed than I. His concern is for the particular, for narrow observation and classification. Mine is for the