She was thankful that Aunt Hannah was out: that made the affair simpler.
'Well, uncle,' she said, 'I haven't seen you since you came back from the Isle of Man, have I?'
Some inspiration lent her a courage which rose far beyond embarrassment. She saw at once that the old man was enchanted to have her in the house alone, and flattered by the apparatus of feminine elegance which she always displayed for him at its fullest. These two had a sort of cult for each other, a secret sympathy, none the less sincere because it seldom found expression. His pale blue eyes, warmed by her presence, said: 'I'm an old man, and I've seen the world, and I keep a few of my ideas to myself. But you know that no one understands a pretty woman better than I do. A glance is enough.' And in reply to this challenge she gave the rein to her profoundest instincts. She played the simple feminine to his masculine. She dared to be the eternal beauty who rules men, and will ever rule them, they know not why.
'My lass,' he said in a tone that granted all requests in advance, after they had talked a while, 'you're after something.'
His wrinkled features, ironic but benevolent, intimated that he knew she wished to take an unfair advantage of the gifts which Nature had bestowed on her, and that he did not object.
She allowed herself to smile mysteriously, provocatively at him.
'Yes,' she admitted frankly, 'I am.'
'Well?' He waited indulgently for the disclosure.
She paused a moment, smiling steadily at him. The contrast of his wizened age made her feel deliciously girlish.
'It's about my house, at Hillport,' she began with assurance. 'I want you——'