colonial architecture, well back from the road, and fields beyond it.
It was of red brick and white stone, with a wide veranda supported by
great white pillars. There was a modern portico at one side. A fine
lawn surrounded the whole, and white-pebble walks wound in and out.
All around were thickly wooded hills, gashed here and there by the
familiar yet peculiar red clay of the country. Warburton walked up
the driveway and knocked deliberately at the servants' door, which
was presently opened. (I learned all these things afterward, which
accounts for my accurate knowledge of events.)

"Please inform Miss Annesley that Mr. Osborne has come in reply to
her letter," he said to the little black-eyed French maid.

"Ees Meestaire Osborrrrne zee new groom?"

"Yes."

"I go thees minute!" _Hein!_ what a fine-looking young man to
make eyes at on cold nights in the kitchen!

Warburton sat down and twirled his hat. Several times he repressed
the desire to laugh. He gazed curiously about him. From where he sat
he could see into the kitchen. The French chef was hanging up his
polished pans in a glistening row back of the range, and he was
humming a little _chanson_ which Warburton had often heard in
the restaurants of the provincial cities of France. He even found
himself catching up the refrain where the chef left off. Presently he
heard footsteps sounding on the hardwood floor, which announced that
the maid was returning with her mistress.