bothered with young men. She is too lazy; she just looks over their
heads till they get tired and go away. I am sure it was the packing,
or, perhaps, the party. But what are you staring at, Colonel? Is there
anything wrong?"

"No, no; only that wonderful window of yours--the one filled with
bottle-glass--which always reminds me of a bull's-eye lantern standing
on a preserved-beef tin, or the top of a toy lighthouse."

Porson peered at the offending window through his spectacles.

"Certainly, now you mention it, it does look a little odd from here," he
said; "naked, rather. You said so before, you remember, and I told them
to plant the shrubs; but while I was away they let every one of the poor
things die. I will ask my architect, Jenkins, if he can't do anything;
it might be pulled down, perhaps."

"Better leave it alone," said the Colonel, with a sniff. "If I know
anything of Jenkins he'd only put up something worse. I tell you, John,
that where bricks and mortar are concerned that man's a moral monster."

"I know you don't like his style," murmured Porson; "but won't you come
in, it is so hot out here in the sun?"

"Thank you, yes, but let us go to that place you call your den, not to
the drawing-room. If you can spare it, I want half-an-hour with you.
That's why I came over in the afternoon, before dinner."

"Certainly, certainly," murmured Porson again, as he led the way to
the "den," but to himself he added: "It's those mortgages, I'll bet. Oh