"No," he snarled. "Do you think I'm so decrepit that I have to have a
female help me up-stairs?" Then he began toiling up the steps. "My
name is Wright. You know my grandson? Sam? Great fool! I've come to
call on you." On the porch he drew a long breath, pulled off his mangy
old beaver hat, and, with a very courtly bow, held out his hand.
"Madam, permit me to pay my respects to you. I am your neighbor. In
fact, your only neighbor; without me,

'Montium domina ut fores silvarumque virentium saltuumque reconditorum
amniumque sonantum.'

Understand that? No? Good. I don't like learned females."

She took his hand in a bewildered way, glancing back over her shoulder
at Mr. Pryor, uncertain what she ought to do. Mr. Wright decided for
her.

"I know this house," he said, pushing past her into the dusky hall;
"friend of mine used to live here. Ho! This is the parlor. Well; who's
this?" He stood chewing orange-skin and blinking up at Lloyd Pryor,
who came forward reluctantly.

"My name is Pryor, sir, I--"

"Oh! Yes. _I_ know. _I_ know. The lady's brother. Here! Push that
chair out for me."

And Mr. Lloyd Pryor found himself bringing a chair forward and taking
the hat and stick from the trembling old hand. Helena had gone quickly