“Yes, it is,” said Miss Amelia; “and I am sure I have always wondered why you didn’t buy it yourself, my dear Edwin, seeing that it is almost within your own estate.”
Mr. Vanley’s face clouded for an instant, and he cast a glance toward Bartley Bradstone; then he said, with a slight shrug:
“I have quite enough to worry about. Besides, I didn’t know that Mr. Sparrow wished to part with it.”
“I didn’t—that is—I had no idea of it,” said the old gentleman, nervously. “The—the fact is, this young man—Mr. Faradeane, I mean—took me by surprise.”
“At all events, you have got your price for it,” said Mr. Vanley, as if rather tired of the subject, “and I”—with a grave smile—“should in all probability have beaten you down.”
“I’d rather you had bought it at half the price,” murmured Mr. Sparrow, meekly.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Vanley, almost impatiently. “It is too late now, and—there’s an end of the matter.” He turned to the pair at the piano, and regarded them for a moment. “I shall be in the library if you want to see me before you go, Bradstone,” he said.
Bartley Bradstone looked over his shoulder carelessly—too carelessly for a young man addressing his senior.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll look in as I go.”