IT seems increasingly likely that I really will undertake the expedition that

has been preoccupying my imagination now for some days. An expedition, I should

say, which I will undertake alone, in the comfort of Mr Farraday's Ford; an

expedition which, as I foresee it, will take me through much of the finest

countryside of England to the West Country, and may keep me away from Darlington

Hall for as much as five or six days. The idea of such a journey came about, I

should point out, from a most kind suggestion put to me by Mr Farraday himself

one afternoon almost a fortnight ago, when I had been dusting the portraits in

the library. In fact, as I recall, I was up on the step-ladder dusting the

portrait of Viscount Wetherby when my employer had entered carrying a few

volumes which he presumably wished returned to the shelves. On seeing my person,

he took the opportunity to inform me that he had just that moment finalized

plans to return to the United States for a period of five weeks between August

and September.

 

Having made this announcement, my employer put his volumes down on a table,

seated himself on the chaise-longue, and stretched out his legs. It was then,

gazing up at me, that he said:

 

“You realize, Stevens, I don’t expect you to be locked up here in this house all

the time I'm away. Why don't you take the car and drive off somewhere for a few

days? You look like you could make good use of a break."

 

Coming out of the blue as it did, I did not quite know how to reply to such a

suggestion. I recall thanking him for his consideration, but quite probably I