tammered. "Evenings, now, if you have time to spare----"

She smiled, opened the door wider, and looked humorously down at him
where he stood fidgeting on the step.

"Will you come in?" she asked serenely.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XX

HE went, first depositing his suit-case on the step outside by the cats,
and followed her into a large, comfortable sitting room.

"By jove," he said, "you know this is really mighty pretty! What a
corking collection of old furniture! Where in the world did you find--or
perhaps this is the original furniture of the place?"

She said, looking around the room as though slightly perplexed: "This
furniture was made to order for me in Boston."

"Then it isn't genuine," he said, disappointed. "But it's a very clever
imitation of antique colonial. It is really a wonderful copy."

"I don't think it is a copy."

"It certainly doesn't look like it; but it must be if it was made in
Boston for you. They're ingenious fellows, these modern makers of
colonial furniture. Every antique shop in New York is loaded up with
excellent copies of this sort--only not nearly as well done."

She assented, apparently with no very clear understanding of what he
meant.

"What a charming setting this old house makes for such things," he said.

She nodded, looking doubtfully at the rag carpet.

"The Manor House was much finer," she observed. "Come to the window and
I'll show you where it stood. They were fine folk, the Lockwoods, Hunts,
and Fanchers."

They rose and she laid one pretty hand on his sleeve and guided him into
a corner of the window, where he could see.

"Hello," he said uneasily, "there is a main travelled road! I thought
that here we were at the very ends of civilisation!"

"That is the Bedford road," she said. "Over there, beyond those
chestnuts, is the Stamford road. Can you see those tall old poplars?
Beyond the elms I mean--there--where the crows are flying?"

"Yes. Eight tall poplars."

"The Manor House stood there. Tarleton burnt it--set it afire with all
its beautiful furniture and silver and linen! His hussars ran through it,
setting it afire and shooting at the mirrors and slashing the silks and
pictures! And when the Major's young wife entered the smoking doorway to
try to save a pitiful little trinket or two, an officer--never mind who,
for his descendants may be living to-day in England--struck her with the
flat of his sword and cut her and struck her t