"What do you think of our view?" the Colonel asked, leading his guest to the edge of the piazza. The hill fell away steeply, the town lay below, and scattered on the farther hillsides were the villas of the well-to-do. The Colonel began pointing out the residences. "Alfred Fenno over there—Alfred, not William, you know; richer than his brother, but not so prominent. And down there is Branderson; he overlooks the river, but he also sees the new chimney, which we miss." The Colonel added, "A good deal of money he has spent there."
"I should think so," agreed Ellis.
"The Dents are over there," Blanchard proceeded. "Rather pretentious the house is, in my opinion, like—" his voice faded away; he had had in mind Ellis's own house in the city. "——Er, gingerbready, don't you think?"
"The elms don't let me see it very well," Ellis was glad to answer. For what was gingerbready? Sticky?
"But much money in it," said the Colonel. "Dent has made a good thing of his mills."
"Very good thing," murmured Ellis. He was interested to hear these comments of an insider.
"Kingston's place is over there," continued the Colonel. "Now, I like, do you know, Mr. Ellis, what Kingston has done with that house. Small, but a gem, sir—a gem! Money has not been spared—and there's lots of money there!" quoth the Colonel, wagging his head.
Ellis began to perceive the monotony of these descriptions. Money, riches; riches, money. And there was an unction to each utterance which might betray the inner man. Judith perceived this also.
"Let us have tea," she said, and going where the tea-table stood, she rang for the maid. But the Colonel continued: