"Oh, of course I shall take a house; but there is plenty of time for that." And when she pressed him somewhat eagerly to tell her in what neighborhood he meant to live, he only shrugged his shoulders, and remarked, carelessly, that he would have a look round at all sorts of places by and by. "But do you mean to take a house and live all alone?" asked Dulce. "Won't you find it rather dull?" "What's a fellow to do?" replied her cousin, enigmatically. "I suppose Aunt Catherine will not undertake the care of me?--I am too big, as you call it, for a houseful of women!" "Well, yes; perhaps you are," she replied, contemplating him thoughtfully. "We should not know quite what to do with you." "I wish I could get rid of a few of my superfluous inches," he remarked, dolorously; "for people seem to find me sadly in the way sometimes." But Dulce said, kindly,-- "Oh, no, Harry; we never find you in the way: do we, mammie? We should be dreadfully dull without you now. I can hear you whistling a quarter of a mile off, and it sounds so cheerful. If there were only a house big enough for you next door, that would do nicely." "Oh. I dare say I shall not be far off: shall I, Aunt Catherine?" for, to his aunt's utter bewilderment, he had established a sort of confidence between them, and expected her to understand all his vague hints. "You will not speak about this to the girls; this is just between you and me," he would say to her, when sometimes she had not a notion what he meant. "I don't understand you, Harry," she said, once. "Why did you stop me just now when I was going to tell Phillis about the Ibbetsons leaving Glen Cottage? She would have been so interested." "You must keep that to yourself a little while, Aunt Catherine: it will be such a surprise to the girls, you know. Did I tell you about the new conservatory Ibbetson has built? It leads out of the drawing-room, and improves the room wonderfully, they say." "My dear Harry! what an expense! That is just what Mr. Mayne was always wanting us to do; and Nan was so fond of flowers. It was just what the room needed to make it perfect." And Mrs. Challoner folded her hands, with a sigh at the remembrance of the house she had loved so dearly. "They say Gilsbank is for sale," remarked her nephew, rather suddenly, after this. "What! Gilsbank, where old Admiral Hawkins lived? Nan saw the announcement of his death the other day, and she said then the place would soon be put up for sale. Poor old man! He was a martyr to gout." "I had a look at it the other day," he replied, coolly. "Why, it is not a hundred yards from your old cottage. There is a tidy bit of land, and the house is not so bad, only it wants doing up; but the furniture--that is for sale too--is very old-fashioned and shabby." "Are you thinking of it for yourself?" asked his aunt, in surprise. "Why, Gilsbank is a large place; it would never do for a single man. You would find the rooms Phillis proposed far handier."