It was a very large house, looking out from beneath its canopy of elms over a wide valley; a pleasant prospect of gentle hills and dales, with the little river winding quietly below. "It is worth looking at," said Fox again. He looked at her, then. She was not laughing, but there was a merry look in her eyes. "What amuses you? I should rather like to know. Isn't my hat on straight?" She shook her head. "I'll tell you before long. But it is really nothing." Truly it didn't need much to amuse her on that day. He looked at her again, then looked away. "The house looks as if it might have been a hotel," he remarked; "a little hotel, with all the comforts of home. It is very homelike. It seems to invite you." "Yes," she replied, "it does." "And the barn," he went on, "is not too near the house, but yet near enough, and it is very well ordered and it has all the modern improvements. All the modern improvements include a tiled milking-room and, next to it, a tiled milk-room with all the most improved equipment, and a wash-room for the milkers and a herd of about twenty-five registered Guernseys. I know, for I have been over it." "That sounds very good. I know very little about such things." "I have had to know. It is a part of my business. That barn and that outfit would be very convenient if the house were--for instance--a private hospital. Now, wouldn't it?" She made no reply and he turned to her again. She was looking at him in amazement, and her face expressed doubt and a dawning gladness. "Oh, Fox!" "Now, wouldn't it?" "Yes," she murmured, in a low voice. "And the house seems not unsuitable for such a purpose. I have not been over the house." "Fox! Will you tell me what you mean?" He laughed out. "The old skinflint who lives there says he can't sell it. He seemed very intelligent, too; intellect enough to name a price if he wanted to. And I would not stick at the price if it were within the bounds of reason." "I think," Mrs. Ladue remarked, "that I could tell you why your old skinflint couldn't sell it." "Why?" Fox asked peremptorily. "When you have shown me all you have to show," she answered, the look of quiet amusement again about her eyes and mouth, "I will tell you; that is, if you tell me first what you mean." He continued looking for a few moments in silence. She bore his scrutiny as calmly as she could. Then he turned, quickly, and drew the reins tight. "Get up, you ancient scion of a livery stable." The horse started reluctantly. "There is something else," he added, "just down the road a bit." "I thought so," she said. "It is a square house, painted a cream color, with a few elms around it, and quite a grove at a little distance behind it." "It is. But you forgot the barn and the chicken-houses." She laughed joyously. "I didn't think of them." "And the well-sweep." "I'm afraid I didn't think of that, either."