“I have an order—” Then he repented him of his wickedness and said, “Would you allow me to see over the house?”
“It is let, sir.”
“Let? What scoundrels they are—agents—letting me come all this way—for how long is it let?”
“For two months, sir.”
“Ah, yes, of course, but I am in negotiations for taking it on a long lease—ninety-nine years sort of thing.”
Pillar looked at him. Ninety-nine years! He didn’t believe there were such things in Scotch leases—but perhaps it was hardly worth discussing that—the quality of the visitor was such that Pillar judged him to be a law unto himself.
“Would—whoever the house is let to—allow me, d’you think, to see over it? I must do it now or never—I’ve come a long way from—” And he mentioned that far-off island, the sound of whose name was always in Diana’s heart if not forever on her lips. She was passing through the hall, heard the name, and went out—and found herself face to face with the young man who for months had prayed for her every night. That, of course, she did not know. But she knew he must know her father and mother.
“I was asking if you would be so kind as to allow me to see the Lodge.” She was far more adorable than he had imagined and that he had not deemed possible.
“Of course,” she answered; “do come in”—and he went in, following his dream of dreams come true.
“This is the hall,” she said; “it’s small, but it’s quite big enough for wet mackintoshes—and—”