“I believe he has been playing a joke about that flat,” Mrs. Graham thought, as she followed up the walk to the front door, of which Tom had the key.
He seemed quite at home in the house, which was perfect in every respect, with plenty of room for guests, a modern hall and staircase, with broad window-seats and a fireplace, and Rena went off into little shrieks of ecstasy, while the six rooms of the flat, third floor, grew smaller and smaller in her mind.
“Tom,” she said, at last, timidly, as they sat in one of the window-seats, “how much is a home like this worth?”
Tom named a price which made her gasp.
“Did you think of buying it?” he asked.
“No, I couldn’t, and furnish it and keep it up as it ought to be kept, but it’s lovely,” Rena said. “Why did you bring us here? Whose is it?”
“Yours, if you prefer it to the flat.”
“Oh, Tom! You ought not to have done it! You couldn’t afford it, and you must let me help, but it was so good in you, you dear, delightful, darling old Tom,” Rena exclaimed, and forgetting that her aunt was present she threw her arms around Tom’s neck, nearly strangling him and knocking off his hat, which rolled on the floor.
“Hold on,” he said. “You are choking me to death and wide of the mark. I could not begin to buy the place, even with your help. Rex bought it and gives it to you. I have the deed in my pocket. Here it is.”
He drew out a legal-looking document and held it up, but Rena did not see it. She had bounded half across the room, where she stood with flashing eyes and white lips, exclaiming: