So I expressed regret and all that sort of thing, and said that I would like to see Mr. Kenway on his return.
“He went to Stamford by train this morning,” she replied. “I’m expecting him every minute.”
So I went out and wandered through the neglected wilderness that had once been a garden. Everywhere were signs of a long departed glory, broken statuary, ivy-grown balustrades, and a fine old sculptured sundial, now, alas, entirely hidden by creepers and ivy.
Mrs. Kenway’s husband returned in about half an hour—a thin-faced, dark-bearded, thick-set little man with a pair of sharp black eyes, which told me the instant I was introduced to him that he was a good business man and ready for a bargain.
Seated with him on an American cloth-covered chair in that inartistic dining-room, I commenced to chat about insurance matters, and learnt that business was not very good about those parts. Then, in his wife’s presence, I approached the proposal for taking the house off his hands, explaining what Mrs. Kenway had told me on a previous visit regarding its unsuitability for the reception of paying guests.
“Well,” he said, in a gruff voice, “things do happen strangely. You’re the second gentleman we’ve had after the house within a week or two. We’d be pleased enough to let it, only my wife has promised somebody else in London.”
“She has told me that,” I said. “Of course, if you refuse to let the place, well and good. But not only am I ready to sign an agreement with you this afternoon and pay you the whole year’s rent in advance to-day, but in order to secure the place for my friend I’m ready to make a bargain with you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll give an extra ten-pound note over and above what you’ve asked this other gentleman.”
Husband and wife exchanged glances. I saw, as I had expected, that ten pounds and release from the burden of the house, which was far too large for people in their circumstances, was a temptation.