Several houses in the neighbourhood of Great Hitherden had recently been improved and elegant new cottages built for ladies and gentlemen with rustic inclinations and so – partly because it was impossible for Henry to keep any thing connected to his parish to himself – and partly because he was intending to be married soon and so his mind rather ran upon domestic improvements – he was quite unable to refrain from giving Strange advice upon the matter. He was particularly distressed by the position of the stable yard which, as he told Strange, “One is obliged to walk through to get to the southerly part of the pleasure-grounds and the orchard. You could very easily pull it down and build it again somewhere else.”

Strange did not exactly reply to this, but instead suddenly addressed his wife. “My love, I hope you like this house? I am very much afraid that I never thought to ask you before. Say if you do not and we shall instantly remove elsewhere!”

Arabella laughed and said that she was quite satisfied with the house. “And I am sorry, Henry, but I am just as satisfied with the stable-yard as with everything else.”

Henry tried again. “Well, surely, you will agree that a great improvement could be made simply by cutting down those trees that crowd about the house so much and darken every room? They grow just as they please – just where the acorn or seed fell, I suppose.”

“What?” asked Strange, whose eyes had wandered back to his book during the latter part of the conversation.

“The trees,” said Henry.

“Which trees?”

“Those,” said Henry, pointing out of the window to a whole host of ancient and magnificent oaks, ashes and beech trees.

“As far as neighbours go, those trees are quite exemplary. They mind their own affairs and have never troubled me. I rather think that I will return the compliment.”

“But they are blocking the light.”

“So are you, Henry, but I have not yet taken an axe to you.”

The truth was that, though Henry saw much to criticize in the grounds and position of Ashfair, this was not his real complaint. What really disturbed him about the house was the all-pervading air of magic. When Strange had first taken up the profession of magic, Henry had not thought any thing of it. At that time news of Mr Norrell’s wonderful achievements was only just beginning to spread throughout the kingdom. Magic had seemed little more than an esoteric branch of history, an amusement for rich, idle gentlemen; and Henry still somehow contrived to regard it in that light. He prided himself upon Strange’s wealth, his estate, his important pedigree, but not upon his magic. He was always a little surprized whenever any one congratulated him on his close connexion with the Second Greatest Magician of the Age.