'Why Mr Grockleton, it means everything. Our dear, dear Louisa, my favourite protegee, my most talented pupil, married to the Member of Parliament - and a notable landowner - and all tied up in every conceivable way with the Burrards.'

'And the Albions?'

'The Albions?' She stared at him blankly. 'I fail to see the significance of the Albions. There's only the two old people and ...'

'Fanny.'

'Fanny, to be sure. Fanny. Poor girl. But please do not stray from the point. Fanny is of no importance. With Louisa and dear Mr Martell our friends, why you may be sure we shall be in the Burrards' house in the twinkling of an eye. It will all be' - she beamed at him - 'so natural.' She considered the prospect in the spirit of an explorer who has at last come in sight of a fabled land. 'Next time Mr Martell comes here,' she said thoughtfully, 'I shall give that ball and I truly think the Burrards might come.'

'He had better come by autumn, then,' the Customs officer muttered, although his wife did not hear him.

Even if she had heard him, Mrs Grockleton could have no idea what her husband meant by this cryptic statement; nor did he wish her to know. But it was this secret consideration that caused him, now, to raise a subject that had been increasingly on his mind. 'I wonder if it has ever occurred to you, Mrs Grockleton, that the time might come when we decide to leave Lymington.'

'Leave Lymington?' She turned to look at him and it seemed that her eyes took a moment or two to focus upon him. 'Leave?'

'It is a possibility.'

'But Customs officers are never moved, Mr Grockleton. You are here to stay.'

It was quite true, of course. A position like his led to no possibility of advancement or transfer. You kept it until you retired. 'True, my dear. But we might choose to move.'

'But we shan't, Mr Grockleton.'

'What if,' he proceeded very cautiously, 'I cannot say it is likely but what if, Mrs Grockleton, we were to come into money?'

'Money? From what source, Mr Grockleton?'

'Have I ever spoken to you, my dear, of my cousin Balthazar?' The question was somewhat devious, since he had only invented this relative the day before.

'I do not think so. I am sure you have not. What an extraordinary name.'

'Not', he said calmly, 'if your mother was Dutch. My cousin Balthazar made a great fortune in the East Indies and retired to the north, where he lives in utter seclusion. He has no children. Indeed, I gather that I am his only kinsman. As I hear that he has a malady from which he is unlikely to recover, I think it possible that his fortune may come to me.'