"It's a beautiful country," said Cardigan.
"Swallows' Nest is one of our prettiest bits," the squire said. "Just come and have a look at it. You can get a good view from the top of that field."
The old farm-house was bathed in the mellow light of the October afternoon. A few late roses still lingered in the front garden, and clambered up the rough flint walls; and there were geraniums blooming on the ledges inside the porch. It was not a big house, by any means, and the latticed windows were small and mean. Looking down upon this dwelling, Cardigan only thought that it was not pretty enough to be set in such a lovely spot. It never occurred to him just then that it was a home.
"WITH A SAD HEART SHE WENT TO HER LATTICED WINDOW AND LEANED OUT INTO THE SOFT DARKNESS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHT."
"Upon my word, Monteagle," said he suddenly, "I'm half inclined to buy the place myself. It would be easy enough to pull down that ugly little barn, and put up something really picturesque."
"Quite easy," said the squire.
"I know exactly the sort of thing I should like to build there," Cardigan went on. "Nothing showy, you understand, but something that would harmonise with the surroundings. Well, Monteagle, we must talk the matter over."