“You live here?” he asked.
“Oh, do you?” said the lady, before Desiré had hardly finished her affirmative reply; “then may we look at the house?”
“Certainly,” replied the girl politely, although she was far from willing to show it.
The man and woman examined the cabin both inside and out, with keen interest; even the garden was included in the inspection. Occasionally they talked together in such low tones that Desiré could not distinguish what they were saying. She felt a queer sinking dread as she followed them around. The children had stayed near the bus, and it seemed as if she were abandoned to these odd tourists.
On the stone doorstep the man turned back, after they had gone over the place for the second time.
“Do you own this?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“Who does?” demanded the woman.
“It doesn’t belong to anybody, really,” confessed poor Desiré reluctantly. “It’s something about a title. We just live here.”
“Oh, Dad, buy it for me. I must have it!” exclaimed the young woman.