“Wouldn’t it be well to show Miss Orr some more desirable property, Deacon?” interposed Wesley Elliot. “It seems to me—”
“Oh, I shall buy the house,” said the girl at the window, quickly.
She turned and faced the two men, her delicate head thrown back, a clear color staining her pale cheeks.
“I shall buy it,” she repeated. “I—I like it very much. It is just what I wanted—in—in every way.”
Deacon Whittle gave vent to a snort of astonishment.
“There was another party looking at the place a spell back,” he said, rubbing his dry old hands. “I dunno’s I exac’ly give him an option on it; but I was sort of looking for him to turn up ’most any day. Course I’d have to give him the first chance, if it comes to a—”
“What is an option?” asked Lydia.
“An option is a—now, let me see if I can make a legal term plain to the female mind: An option, my dear young lady, is—”
The minister crossed the floor to where the girl was standing, a slight, delicate figure in her black dress, her small face under the shadowy brim of her wide hat looking unnaturally pale in the greenish light from without.
“An option,” he interposed hurriedly, “must be bought with money; should you change your mind later you lose whatever you have paid. Let me advise you—”