"Perhaps," said Hewson sadly.

"No perhaps about it," St. John retorted, all the more cheerfully because
he would have been glad before this incident to take twenty thousand for
his place. "It's just on the borders of Lenox, and it's bound to come up
when this blows over." He talked on for a time in an encouraging strain,
while Hewson, standing with his back against the mantel, looked absently
down upon him. St. John was inwardly struggling through all to say that
Hewson might have the property for twenty-eight thousand, but he could
not. Possibly he made himself believe that he was letting it go a great
bargain at thirty; at any rate he ended by saying, "Well, it's yours--if
you really mean it."

"I mean it," said Hewson.

St. John floundered up out of his chair with seal-like struggles. "Do you
want the furniture?" he panted.

"The furniture? Yes, why not?" said Hewson. He did not seem to know what
he was saying, or to care.

"I will put that in for a mere nominal consideration--the rugs alone are
worth the money--say a thousand more."

Hewson's man came in with a note. "The messenger is waiting, sir," he
said.

Hewson was aware of wondering that he had not heard any ring. "Will you
excuse me?" he said, toward St. John.