"No," said Tom. "It is a new plant—a pipe foundry."
"Don't tell me we are going to have more neighbors in Paradise," she said in mock concern.
"I'll tell you something that may shock you worse than that: the owner of this new plant has camped down right next door to Deer Trace."
"How dreadful! You don't mean that!"
"Oh, but I do. He's a young man, of poor but honest parentage, with a large eye for the main chance. I shouldn't be surprised if he took every opportunity to make love to you."
"How absurd you can be, Tom! Who is he?"
"He is Mr. Caleb Gordon's son. I think you think you know him, but you don't; nobody does."
"Really, Tom? Have you gone into business for yourself? I thought you had another year at Boston."
"I have another year coming to me, but I don't know when I shall get it. And I am in business for myself; though perhaps I should be modest and call it a firm—Gordon and Gordon."
"What does the firm do?"