“I've just come here. The house was like the tree the shingles all rotten, but the beams were sound. Those beams were hewn out of the forest two hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Gracious!” said Janet. “And how old is the tree?”
“I should say about a hundred. I suppose it wouldn't care to admit it.”
“How do you know?” she inquired.
“Oh, I'm very intimate with trees. I find out their secrets.”
“It's your house!” she exclaimed, somewhat appalled by the discovery.
“Yes—yes it is,” he answered, looking around at it and then in an indescribably comical manner down at his clothes. His gesture, his expression implied that her mistake was a most natural one.
“Excuse me, I thought—” she began, blushing hotly, yet wanting to laugh again.
“I don't blame you—why shouldn't you?” he interrupted her. “I haven't got used to it yet, and there is something amusing about—my owning a house. When the parlour's finished I'll have to wear a stiff collar, I suppose, in order to live up to it.”
Her laughter broke forth, and she tried to imagine him in a stiff collar.... But she was more perplexed than ever. She stood balancing on one foot, poised for departure.