"You ain’t tired?" asked Quinney, reading her face wrongly. The tenderness in his voice brought back a brace of dimples. "Tired? Not a bit, but I’m sure that our cottage is the prettier." "Please suspend judgment," said the agent formally. How could he divine that the pretty maid, who smiled at him so sweetly, would have suspended him from the nearest tree for being a bore and a nuisance. She smiled upon him with rage in her heart. And, behold, the second cottage was infinitely prettier than the first. Susan gasped when she beheld it, and she was quite furious with Quinney when he said drawlingly, "This looks all right, but what’s wrong with it? Why hasn’t it been gobbled up long ago?" "There is something wrong with it—the price." "I guessed as much." The agent explained glibly, for he, too, had learned of young Joe’s great inheritance. "It’s not big enough for well-to-do folk; and it’s much too expensive for poor people. It cost quite a lot of money. There’s a boathouse, and fishing rights and everything is in tip-top order. So it’s not surprising that the price is tip-top also. But it’s a genuine bargain." "How much?" The agent mentioned a sum which made Quinney whistle. Susan groaned. She had quite forgotten cottage number one. It had grown common in her brown eyes, which dwelt with rapture upon a tiny lawn sloping to the sleepy Mel, upon the veranda where in summer-time Joe and she could eat their meals, upon the lilac and laburnum soon to bloom, upon the placid stream so plainly loath to leave such delightful banks. No neighbours other than the owners of big gardens would disturb their peace. Over everything hung a veil of romance and beauty. Furtively, she wiped two tears from her eyes. "Let us go," she said quietly. She turned, and the men followed her in silence. *II* Quinney went back to his shop without making any reference to cottage number one. Undoubtedly number two was a bargain, but he remembered a maxim often in his father’s mouth, "At a great pennyworth pause awhile; many are ruined by buying bargains." Moreover, the first cottage was to be had at a modest rent. Number two was not offered on lease; the owner wanted spot cash for the freehold. Before the lovers parted, Susan whispered, "I do wish we had not seen that cottage by the Mel. It’s made me hate the other." Quinney nodded gloomily. Susan continued softly, "It’s a dream cottage. I shall think of it as that, and pretend that it doesn’t really exist. I may go there sometimes when I’m asleep." "You must look a little dear when you’re asleep!" "Oh, Joe, you do say such odd things." "We’ll look at some other cottages." "I shall be perfectly happy with you anywhere—except in that first cottage." "One of these fine days you’ll live in a big house in London." "What?" "I mean it. You make a note of what I say. This old town is well enough, but it ain’t big enough for me." "Joe, you do surprise me."