and then had spoken. I do not know; and she will never tell me. At
all events the beauty so struck me, like a landscape fresh from the
hand of some great artist--as it was indeed, fresh from the hand of
the Great Artist--that I involuntarily reined in Tom to look at it.
"It's for sale, too," said I, "I wonder what such a place costs."

The artful diplomate did not answer. The books and newspapers talk
about women's curiosity. It's nothing to a man's curiosity when it
is aroused. Oh, I know the story of Bluebeard very well. But if Mrs.
Bluebeard had been a strong minded woman, and had killed her seven
husbands, I wonder if the eighth would not have taken a peep. He
would not have waited for the key but would have broken in the door
long before. If men are not curious why do the authorities always
appoint them on the detective police force?

"Mr. Lines," said I that evening at the tea table, "you know that
pretty little cottage on the hill just opposite the church. I see
there is a sign up 'for sale.' What is the price of it, do you
know?"

"No," said Mr. Lines. "But you can easily find out. It belongs to
Charlie Sinclair; he lives there and can tell you."

Three days after that, as I was driving up from the station, it
struck my fancy I should like to see the inside of that pretty
house. "Jennie," said I, "let's go in and look at the inside of that
pretty cottage." But I had no more idea of purchasing it than I have
now of purchasing the moon.

"It would hardly be the thing for me to call," said the diplomate.