“Welcome to Thunder Cliff, Mr. Maxwell. Thunder Cliff’s the name of the place, you know. All the summer visitors in Durford have names for their houses; so I thought I’d call my place Thunder Cliff, just to be in the style.”
Jonathan Jackson, who had kept a discreet silence during Hepsey’s pointers concerning his colleague, the Senior Warden, interjected:
“There ’aint no cliff, Hepsey, and you know it. I always tell her, Mr. Maxwell, ’taint appropriate a bit.”
“Jonathan, you ’aint no Englishman, and there’s no 24 use pretendin’ that you are. Some day when I have a couple of hours to myself, I’ll explain the whole matter to you. There isn’t any cliff, and the house wants paintin’ and looks like thunder. Isn’t that reason enough to go on with? Now, Mr. Maxwell, you come in and make yourself perfectly at home.”
CHAPTER II
GOSSIP
That afternoon Maxwell occupied himself in unpacking his trunks and arranging his room. As the finishing touch, he drew out of a leather case an exquisite miniature of a beautiful girl, which he placed on the mantelpiece, and at which he gazed for a long time with a wistful light in his fine gray eyes. Then he threw himself on the lounge, and pulling a letter from his inner pocket, read: