"That's a good notion," he said. "I'll step round and see Tansley about it."
Tansley had been one of the very few men whom Brent had invited to be present at his cousin's interment. He had just changed his mourning garments for those of everyday life and was settling down to his professional business when Brent was shown into his private office.
"Busy?" demanded Brent in his usual laconic fashion.
"Give you whatever time you want," answered the solicitor, who knew his man by that time. "What is it now?"
"I've concluded to take up my abode in this old town," said Brent, with something of a sheepish smile. "Seems queer, no doubt, but my mind's fixed. And so, look here, you don't know anybody that's got a bit of real estate to sell—nice little house, or something of that sort? If so——"
Tansley thrust his letters and papers aside, pushed an open box of cigars in his visitor's direction, and lighting one himself became inquisitively attentive.
"What's the game?" he asked.
Brent lighted a cigar and took two or three meditative puffs at it before answering this direct question.
"Well," he said at last, "I don't think that I'm a particularly sentimental sort of person, but all the same I'm not storm-proof against sentiment. And I've just got the conviction that it's up to me to go on with my cousin's job in this place."
Tansley took his cigar from his lips and whistled.