cut no such figure as seemed to him to become people in their
position, who could afford to refuse $500,000 for six acres.

He was informed by the middle-aged, respectable-looking maid that the
ladies were in the garden behind the house. A narrow gravelled path
bordered with fragrant box led him to this. Its expanse was not large,
but the luxuriance and variety of the old-fashioned summer flowers
attested the devotion bestowed upon them. At the farther end was a
trellised summer-house in which he perceived that the maiden ladies
were taking afternoon tea. There was no sign of hothouse roses or rare
exotic plants, but he noticed a beehive, a quaint sundial with an
inscription, and along the middle path down which he walked were at
intervals little dilapidated busts or figures of stone on
pedestals--some of them lacking tips of noses or ears. It did not
occur to Mr. Anderson that antiquity rather than poverty was
responsible for these ravages. Their existence gave him fresh hope.

"Who can this be?" said Miss Carry with a gentle flutter. An unknown,
middle-aged man was still an object of curiosity to her.

Miss Rebecca raised her eyeglass. "I do believe, my dear, that
it's--yes, it is."

"But who?" queried Miss Carry.

Miss Rebecca rose instead of answering. The stranger was upon them,
walking briskly and hat in hand. His manner was distinctly
breezy--more so than a first meeting would ordinarily seem to her to
justify.