"Do you mean the big white house by Brae Wood?"
"Yes. Judging by the description of it here, it must be a kind of
gim-crack villa like those one sees in Italy, built by men resembling
this--this _parvenu_."
"It is a large place," said Ida; "but I don't think it is gim-crack,
father. It looks very solid though it is white and, yes, Continental.
It is something between a tremendous villa and a palace. Why are you so
angry? I know you don't like to have new houses built in Bryndermere;
but this is some distance from us--we cannot see it from here, or from
any part of the grounds, excepting the piece by the lake."
"It is built on our land," he said, more quietly, but with the flush
still on his face, the angry light in his eyes. "It was bought by
fraud, obtained under false pretences. I sold it to one of the farmers,
thinking he wanted it and would only use it for grazing. I did not know
until the deeds were signed that he was only the jackal for this other
man."
"What other man, father?"
"This Stephen Orme. He's _Sir_ Stephen Orme now. They knighted him.
They knight every successful tradesman and schemer; and this man is a
prince of his tribe; a low-born adventurer, a _parvenu_ of the worst
type.
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