"Oh, I 'm no good at guessing," said Anthony, with languor, as they resumed their walk.
"Well—what will you give me, then, if I 'll blurt it out?" asked
Adrian, shuffling along sidewise, so that he might face his companion.
"My undivided attention—provided you blurt it briefly," Anthony promised.
"Oh, come," Adrian urged, swaying his head and shoulders. "Betray a little curiosity, at least."
"Curiosity is a vice I was taught in my youth to suppress," said
Anthony.
"A murrain on your youth," cried Adrian, testily. "However, since there 's no quieting you otherwise, I suppose, for the sake of peace, I 'd best tell you, and have done with it. Well, then,"—he stood off, to watch the effect of his announcement,—"Craford's Folly is let."
"Ah?" said Anthony, with no sign of emotion.
Adrian's face fell.
"Was there ever such inhumanity?" he mourned. "I tell him that—thanks to my supernatural diligence in his affairs—his own particular millstone is lifted from his neck. I tell him that a great white elephant of a house, which for years has been eating its head off, and keeping him poor, is at last—by my supernatural diligence—converted into an actual source of revenue. And 'Ah?' is all he says, as if it did n't concern him. Blow, blow, thou winter wind,—thou art not so unkind as Man's ingratitude."
"Silence," Anthony mentioned, "is the perfectest herald of joy."