"Come on, Mother," said the Doctor, "what did your brother pay? No nonsense, you know."
"Well, if you must know—it was FIVE THOUSAND FRANCS, and I can't and won't sell it for less. There, now!"
There was a long silence.
The Doctor and his companion avoided one another's eyes. After a while, he said in an undertone, in English: "By Jove, I'm going to buy it."
"No, no," remonstrated his companion, her eyes gazing down the garden vista to where the wistaria and clematis and flaming trumpet flower flaunted on the old wall. "I am going to have it—I thought of it first. I want it."
"So do I," laughed the Doctor. "Never wanted anything more in all my life."
"For how long," she asked, "would a rover like you want this?"
"Rover yourself! And you? Besides what difference does it make how long I want it—since I want it now? I want to give a party—haven't given a party since—since Class Day."
The Divorcée sighed. Still gazing down the garden she said quietly: "How well I remember—ninety-two!"
Then there was another silence before she turned to him suddenly: "See here—all this is very irregular-so, that being the case—why shouldn't we buy it together? We know each other. Neither of us will ever stay here long. One summer apiece will satisfy us, though it is lovely. Be a sport. We'll draw lots as to who is to have the first party."