“It’s very good of you to come to see us,” said Miss Rebecca, relenting at once. She liked characters—being something of one herself—and her neighbor’s heartiness was taking. “This is my sister, Miss Caroline Ripley,” she added to cement the introduction, “and I am Rebecca. Sit down, Mr. Anderson; and may I give you a cup of tea?”
Four people were apt to be cosily crowded in the summer-house. Being only a third person, the furniture king was able to settle himself in his seat and look around him without fear that his legs would molest any one. He gripped the arms of his chair and inhaled the fragrance of the garden.
“This is a lovely place, ladies,” he asserted.
“Those hollyhocks and morning-glories and mignonettes take me back to old times. Up to my place it’s all roses and orchids. But my wife told me last week that she heard old-fashioned flowers are coming in again. Seems she was right.”
“Oh, but we’ve had old-fashioned flowers for years! Our garden has been always just like this—only becoming a little prettier all the time, we venture to hope,” said Miss Carry.
“I want to know!” said Mr. Anderson; and almost immediately he remembered that both his son and daughter had cautioned him against the use of this phrase at The Beaches. He received the dainty but evidently ancient cup from Miss Rebecca, and seeing that the subject was, so to speak, before the house, he tasted his tea and said:
“It’s all pretty here—garden, view, and beach. And I hear you decline to sell, ladies.”
Miss Rebecca had been musing on the subject all day, and a heartfelt response rose promptly to her lips—spoken with the simple grace of a self-respecting gentlewoman:
“Why should we sell, Mr. Anderson?”
The question was rather a poser to answer categorically; yet the would-be purchaser felt that he sufficiently conveyed his meaning when he said: