res.

After the others had left the room, Rosamund's mother turned to Betty. "I
never saw such a nice, kind, young gentleman!" she exclaimed. "He fair
took my breath away--a regular little doctor he'd make."

* * * * *

Houses are like people--they have their day, their hour, even, one feels
inclined to add, their moods of sadness and of joy, of brightness and of
dulness.

To-day the white Corinthian-looking building called Doryford House was at
its best, in the soft lambent light of an autumn day. For a moment, when
the long, pillared building first came into view, Radmore had felt a
thrill of unreasonable disappointment. He had hoped, somehow, for a
red-brick manor-house--a kind of glorified Old Place. But a few minutes
later, when the mahogany front doors had been unlocked, and they passed
into a light, circular hall and so into a delightful-looking sunny
drawing-room filled with enchanting examples of 18th century furniture,
he began to think that this was, after all, a very attractive house.

"In what wonderful order everything seems to be!" he exclaimed. "Have the
people to whom the place belongs only just left it?"

"It's this way, sir. The gentleman to whom it belongs has several other
homes--he don't care for this place at all. But it's all kep' up
proper--one of the gardeners sees to the furnace--and about all this here
furniture, anybody who takes the house unfurnished, or buys the place,
will be able to keep what they likes at a valuation. Perhaps you and your
lady would like to go over the house by yourselves? People often do, I
notice. If you'll excuse me, I'll just nip away. I wants to go to the
village for a few minutes--that is if your little boy will be so kind as
to stay with my Rosie till I'm back."

"I'm sure he will," said Radmore heartily. He told himself that it was
very natural that everyone should think that he and Betty were married.

The front door shut behind the caretaker, and the two left behind began
going through the ground floor of the great empty house. Their progress
gave Betty an eerie feeling. She felt as if she was in a kind of dream;
the more so that this was quite unlike any country house into which she
had ever been.

They finally came to the last living-room of all, and both exclaimed
together: "This is the room I like best of all!"

It was an octagon library, lined with mahogany bookcases filled with
bound books which looked as though