Mr. Sparrow was speaking, and his thin, piping voice chimed in not discordantly with the treble notes which Olivia’s hand now and again touched. “There is--er--something of a mystery about it, and I--er--dislike mysteries, Miss Amelia.” “Do you, really?” responded Miss Amelia, with a girlish simper. “Now, I love a mystery, Mr. Sparrow; but then we poor women are so fond of romance and--and all that. We have the softer, the more poetic nature, I suppose. You men are so hard!” And she stuck her head very much on one side at the tame-looking old lawyer, who straightened himself as well as he was able under the disadvantage of the teacup and plate, and tried to look as if he were, indeed, hard and practical. “And you do think, there is a mystery! How charming! You really must tell us all about it; we are dying to hear the whole--the whole story. Aren’t we, Olivia?” The young girl gave the very faintest inclination of her head by way of response, and silently pressed down a chord. “There’s not much to tell, as a matter of fact,” said Mr. Sparrow, with the little cough with which old gentlemen preface a story they are anxious to relate. “Last Friday my clerk came into my room and said that a gentleman wished to see me. He gave the name of Faradeane.” “Faradeane! Dear me, how strange, really!” murmured Miss Amelia, who would have made the same comment if the name had been Smith. “Yes, Faradeane. It was quite unknown to me,” continued Mr. Sparrow, “and the gentleman was quite as unknown. He was a young man and--and a gentleman. There can be no doubt about that. I--er--think I know a gentleman when I see him, Miss Amelia.” “Indeed, yes,” murmured Miss Amelia, promptly. “Was he very young?” “About thirty, I should say,” replied Mr. Sparrow, thoughtfully. “Yes, about thirty. A London man; I should say, judging by his clothes. He was very well dressed, very well, indeed. Plainly, but well. I gave him a chair, and he came to the point at once by asking me if I were the owner of The Dell. I said I was, with some surprise, for really I had quite forgotten the little place. It has been shut up so long--it must be just seven years since the last people left it; rather over seven years. He said he had heard that I wanted to sell it, and asked the price. I told him, and--eh--on the spur of the moment, taken so completely by surprise, I stated a price which I cannot help thinking was--er--rather low.” “Then he accepted it?” said the low, sweet voice of Olivia, and Mr. Sparrow started and colored slightly. “I nearly forgot you were in the room, my dear Miss Olivia,” he said, with a smile. “Yes, like the Jew who regretted he hadn’t asked more. Yes, yes! He accepted, and at once! ‘If you will have the draft deed made out, I’ll sign it,’ he said, quietly.” “Dear me, how very sudden and prompt!” murmured Miss Amelia.