One glance at the room into which he ushered me showed why he
cherished so marked a dislike for visitors. It was bare to the
point of discomfort, and had it not been for a certain quaintness
in the shape of the few articles to be seen there, I should have
experienced a decided feeling of repulsion, so pronounced was the
contrast between this poverty-stricken interior and the polished
bearing of its owner. He, I am sure, could have shown no more
elevated manners if he had been doing the honors of a palace. The
organ, with the marks of home construction upon it, was the only
object visible which spoke of luxury or even comfort.

But enough of these possibly uninteresting details. I did not dwell
on them myself, except in a vague way and while waiting for him to
open the conversation. This he did as soon as he saw that I had no
intention of speaking first.

"And did you find any one in the old house?" he asked.

Keeping him well under my eye, I replied with intentional brusqueness:

"She has gone there once too often!"

The stare he gave me was that of an actor who feels that some
expression of surprise is expected from him.

"She?" he repeated. "Whom can you possibly mean by she?"

The surprise I expressed at this bold attempt at ingenuousness was
better simulated than his, I hope.