"Wa-al, no," replied Mr. Parmalee, with a queer sidelong look at the lady; "I can't say I did. They told me down to the tavern all about it. Handsome young lady, wasn't she? One of your tall-stepping, high-mettled sort?"
"Yes."
"And her pa's dead, and he left her nothing? Was poor as a church-mouse, that old officer, wasn't he?"
"Captain Hunsden had only his pay."
"And they've gone off on a bridal tower? Now when do you expect them back?"
"In a month. Are you particularly desirous of seeing Sir Everard or
Lady Kingsland?" asked Sybilla, suddenly and sharply.
"Well, yes," he said, slowly, "I am. I'm collecting photographic views of all your principal buildings over here, and I'm going to ask Sir Everard to let me take this place, inside and out. These rooms are the most scrumptious concerns I've seen lately, and the Fifth Avenue Hotel is some pumpkins, too. Oh, these are the pictures, are they? What a jolly lot!"
Mr. Parmalee became immediately absorbed by the hosts of dead-and-gone Kingslands looking down from the oak-paneled walls. Miss Silver fluently gave him names, and dates, and histories.
"Seems to me," said Mr. Parmalee, "those old fellows didn't die in their beds—many of 'em. What with battles, and duels, and high treason, and sich, they all came to unpleasant ends. Where's the present Kingsland's?"
"Sir Everard's portrait is in the library."