“You see, I'd been East once before, eight years ago, but I didn't see the farm then,” he said finally. “I got married while I was West.” His audience of one started slightly. “She's dead now,” he added abruptly. “Oh, Cousin Lorando--” “You needn't bother about the sympathy, my dear, for there's none needed. I hadn't been with her for a good while. I saw her in a concert-hall out there, and she had curly hair and a kind of taking way with her, and so I married her. I'd just made a big hit, and she wanted to come to New York, and we came. We went to a big hotel, and it was dress-suits for me and diamonds for her, and we drove in a carriage in the park in the afternoon. She liked it, but I soon got enough. I don't care much for that sort of thing. She wanted to go to the theatre and see the girls that she'd been one of, you see, from the other side of the curtain. And she saw a man there she used to know, and--well, it turned out she liked him better, that's all.” “Oh, Cousin Lorando, how terrible--for her!” “Um, yes. She didn't think it was specially terrible, I guess, though. She just packed up and went.” “Went?” “Yes--with him, you see. Diamonds and all. I got a divorce, of course. And she wasn't such a bad lot, after all, for he hadn't any money to speak of, compared to me. It was the man she wanted. Well, she got him.” “How awful!” Miss Trueman murmured. “Oh, yes, I felt pretty sick for a while. But we hadn't been any too happy before she saw him, you see. It was a big mistake. She wasn't exactly the kind of woman you'd be apt to know, you see. So perhaps I got off easier than I deserved. But I never would have married while she was alive. Not but what I had a right to, you understand, but I guess I'm old-fashioned more ways than one. I read about her death a year or so ago. I don't believe she had any too good a time herself. She had an awful temper. But she certainly did have pretty hair,” he concluded thoughtfully. Miss Trueman gasped. “So I didn't want to see New York again; I just hated the place. And this time I only came because I found out you and the girls were here, and you were about all there was left. People die so. And I wanted to find out about the old place. I wanted to buy it, if I could, when I thought it was sold.” “But, Cousin Lorando, I couldn't sell it!” “Oh, no, I s'pose not. Still, I might buy out the girls' thirds and rent yours, couldn't I? I'd pay you as much and more than anybody else would, I guess. And you could keep your interest. And keep half of the house, for that matter, to use when you wanted--it's big enough.” “Why, yes, I don't see why I couldn't do that,” she said thoughtfully. “That would be nice.”