"Perhaps," said Ashton-Kirk, after a moment's study of the prospect,
"yes, perhaps it _is_ a hole of a place in which to live. But you see
we've had this house since shortly after the Revolution; four
generations have been born here. As I have no fashionable wife and I
live alone, I am content to stay. Then, the house suits me; everything
is arranged to my taste. The environment may not be the most
desirable; but, my visitors are seldom of the sort that object to
externals."
"Well, you have one just now who is not what you might call partial to
such neighborhoods," said Pendleton. "And," looking at his watch, "you
will shortly have another who will be, perhaps, still less favorably
impressed."
"Ah!" said Ashton-Kirk.
He curled himself up upon the deep window sill while Pendleton went
back to his chair and the tobacco.
"It's a lady," resumed Pendleton, the brown paper crackling between
his fingers, "a lady of condition, quality and beauty."
"It sounds pleasant enough," smiled the other. "But why is she
coming?"
"To consult you--ah--I suppose we might call it--professionally. No, I
don't know what it is about; but judging from her manner, it is
something of no little consequence."
"She sent you to prepare the way for her, then?"
"Yes.
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