“Wal,” said he. “There’d have been plenty of folks glad enough to live here; but the house wa’n’t really suited to our kind o’ folks. It wa’n’t a farm—there being only twenty acres going with it. And you see the house is different to what folks in moderate circumstances could handle. Nobody had the cash to buy it, an’ ain’t had, all these years. It’s a pity to see a fine old property like this a-going down, all for the lack of a few hundreds. But if you was to buy it, ma’am, I could put it in shape fer you, equal to the best, and at a figure— Wall; I tell ye, it won’t cost ye what some folks’d think.” “Didn’t that man—the banker who stole—everybody’s money, I mean—didn’t he have any family?” asked Lydia, still without turning her head. “I suppose he—he died a long time ago?” “I see the matter of th’ title’s worrying you, ma’am,” said Deacon Whittle briskly. “I like to see a female cautious in a business way: I do, indeed. And ’tain’t often you see it, neither. Now, I’ll tell _you_—” “Wouldn’t it be well to show Miss Orr some more desirable property, Deacon?” interposed Wesley Elliot. “It seems to me—” “Oh, I shall buy the house,” said the girl at the window, quickly. She turned and faced the two men, her delicate head thrown back, a clear color staining her pale cheeks. “I shall buy it,” she repeated. “I—I like it very much. It is just what I wanted—in—in every way.” Deacon Whittle gave vent to a snort of astonishment. “There was another party looking at the place a spell back,” he said, rubbing his dry old hands. “I dunno’s I exac’ly give him an option on it; but I was sort of looking for him to turn up ’most any day. Course I’d have to give him the first chance, if it comes to a—” “What is an option?” asked Lydia. “An option is a—now, let me see if I can make a legal term plain to the female mind: An option, my dear young lady, is—” The minister crossed the floor to where the girl was standing, a slight, delicate figure in her black dress, her small face under the shadowy brim of her wide hat looking unnaturally pale in the greenish light from without. “An option,” he interposed hurriedly, “must be bought with money; should you change your mind later you lose whatever you have paid. Let me advise you—” Deacon Whittle cleared his throat with an angry, rasping sound. “Me an’ this young lady came here this morning for the purpose of transacting a little business, mutually advantageous,” he snarled. “If it was anybody but the dominie, I should say he was butting in without cause.” “Oh, don’t, please!” begged the girl. “Mr. Elliot meant it kindly, I’m sure. I—I want an option, if you please. You’ll let me have it, won’t you? I want it—now.” Deacon Whittle blinked and drew back a pace or two, as if her eagerness actually frightened him.