“Madam, you surprise me. You exhibit every symptom of a lady who has lived to repent of her architectural errors. If you bought the house outright, as I hope to do, I should not expect that you would even listen to me. As it is, however, I have hopes of prevailing upon you to let me have it.”
“I have nothing to say about it,” replied Mrs. Derwall with an air of finality. “You will have to see my husband.”
“Of course! And I shall be delighted to do so at the earliest possible moment. But in the meantime, in order that I may do so with the more intelligence, would you mind showing me the premises?”
Mrs. Derwall laughed in spite of herself.
“Gracious! How persistent you are! You are perfectly welcome to look around. Only mind: I don’t exhibit as to a prospective buyer; I show as to a visiting friend. I have no more idea of getting up and moving out and going all through the torment of architects and builders and strikes and heaven knows what, than I have of——”
“Of going to Professor Murch’s lectures,” suggested the caller with a smile.
“Yes. Thank you. I couldn’t think of anything impossible enough. Will you come this way? This is the reception-room, you see. There is a library on the other side of the hall.” And without further ado she led the way through the rooms.
Having recovered her poise, and perhaps with a new appreciation of her companion’s qualities, Mrs. Derwall proceeded to enter into the spirit of the occasion—as she well knew how. They had a very lively time of it. They went upstairs. They went downstairs. They explored every cupboard and cubbyhole. They examined the plumbing. They criticised the colour schemes. Mrs. Derwall expatiated on all the disadvantages of the house. Her visitor seized unerringly upon every advantage. And so at last they completed in the cellar their round of inspection.
“This is the very nicest part of the house,” sighed Mrs. Derwall. “It’s so dry and comfortable and cosy that I often wake up in the night and wish I were in it!”
The visitor turned solemnly upon her.