“A row of cottages in Bush Lane, have you, Josiah?” said Aunt Gerty with an air of statesmanlike interest. “You seem to be what they call going into bricks and mortar.”
“You bet I am—for some time now. And bricks and mortar are not going to get less in value if this war keeps on, take it from me.”
“I suppose not,” said Mrs. Doctor Cockburn, a judge of values.
“I’ve one regret.” It was not like Josiah to harbor regrets of any kind, and Aunt Gerty visibly adjusted her mind to hear something memorable. “That young Nixey’s as smart as paint. I nearly let him have the contract for this house. In some ways he might have suited us better.”
“But this house is splendid,” said Gerty with flagrant optimism. She knew in her heart that the house was too splendid.
“Young Nixey’s idea was something neater, more in the Mossop style. I didn’t see at the time, so I got Rawlins to do it to my own design. Of course, what I didn’t like about Nixey was that he would have it that he knew better than I did, and I’m not sure——” Josiah hovered on the brink of a very remarkable admission.
“I don’t agree, Josiah. This house is almost perfect.” The specious Gertrude was amazed that he of all men should be so near a confession that he might have been wrong. Dark influences were at work in him evidently.
“I agree with you, Father.” Mrs. Doctor had nothing of Gerty’s finesse. “The Gables is so refined, a house for a gentleman.”
“Don’t know about that,” Josiah frowned. “Never heard of a house being refined. Comes to that, this place is good enough for me, any time.” If he went so far as to own that he might have been wrong it was clearly the duty of others to hasten to contradict him. “But The Gables is more compact. More comfort somehow, and less show.”
“Stands in less ground, must have cost less,” said Gerty softly. “Compared to Strathfieldsaye, The Gables to my mind is rather niggardly.”