oor.
On the instant he was on his hands and knees collecting it.

"Berstoun's a mere nuisance," he answered from the carpet. "He'll never
get out of debt if he lives to a thousand. What's the good in his coming
to see me? Let him tell his creditors to go to the devil; that's the
only sensible thing to do."

He rose chuckling--

"He'll go himself some day; so they'll meet again."

His sister's face was too much for the widow's gravity. She began to
laugh hysterically, her black eyes dancing all the time in the merriest
fashion at her host. It was so infectious that in a moment he had joined
her.

"Won't they?" he kept asking through his chuckles. "Won't they, Madge?"

She kept nodding, choked with laughter, and another strange sensation
began to puzzle Mr. Walkingshaw. It was not so much something new as
something forgotten which was beginning to return, and it concerned this
very sympathetic widow. She was an uncommonly nice woman--really
uncommonly: and what an odd pleasure he began to feel in her society! He
felt even more satisfaction than when he had run down his hat.

CHAPTER III

It was upon a fine April morning that Mr. Walkingshaw made his momentous
discovery. His sister had left her room on her way to breakfast when she
heard his voice calling her. It had so curious a note of excitement that
she got a little flustered. Whatever could be the matter? She hurried to
his dressing-room door and tapped with a trembling hand. She was not
easily agitated as a rule, but her brother had been very disconcerting
for the past few weeks, and now his voice was odd. She remembered
reading of gentlemen lying on their dressing-room floors with razors in
their hands--

"Come in!" he cried impatiently.

She found him dressed all but his coat, and he was standing by the
window looking out over the street and the circular garden.

"Come here, Mary," he said, and pointed at the houses seen through the
leafless trees. "Have they been doing anything to the Hendersons'
house?"

"What doing to it?" she exclaimed.

"Painting it, or brightening it, or--or anything of that kind?"

"Who ever heard of painting a house!"

From which it may be gathered that the good lady was not in the habit of
visiting other cities.

"Well then, washing it?"

"Mr. Henderson washing his house! Whatever would he do that for?"

"Tuts, tuts," said her brother, "I'm only asking you. It looks so
uncommonly distinct. Can you not count