"No," he snarled. "Do you think I'm so decrepit that I have to have a female help me up-stairs?" Then he began toiling up the steps. "My name is Wright. You know my grandson? Sam? Great fool! I've come to call on you." On the porch he drew a long breath, pulled off his mangy old beaver hat, and, with a very courtly bow, held out his hand. "Madam, permit me to pay my respects to you. I am your neighbor. In fact, your only neighbor; without me, 'Montium domina ut fores silvarumque virentium saltuumque reconditorum amniumque sonantum.' Understand that? No? Good. I don't like learned females." She took his hand in a bewildered way, glancing back over her shoulder at Mr. Pryor, uncertain what she ought to do. Mr. Wright decided for her. "I know this house," he said, pushing past her into the dusky hall; "friend of mine used to live here. Ho! This is the parlor. Well; who's this?" He stood chewing orange-skin and blinking up at Lloyd Pryor, who came forward reluctantly. "My name is Pryor, sir, I--" "Oh! Yes. _I_ know. _I_ know. The lady's brother. Here! Push that chair out for me." And Mr. Lloyd Pryor found himself bringing a chair forward and taking the hat and stick from the trembling old hand. Helena had gone quickly into the dining-room, and came back with a decanter and glass on a little tray. She gave a distressed glance at her other guest as though to say, "I can't help it!" Benjamin Wright's old head in its brown wig was still shaking with fatigue, but under the prickle of white on his shaven jowl the purplish color came back in mottled streaks. He sipped the sherry breathlessly, the glass trembling in his veined and shrunken hand. "Well," he demanded, "how do you two like this God-forsaken place?" Mr. Pryor, looking over their visitor's head at Helena, shrugged his shoulders. "It is very nice," she said vaguely, "It's a narrowing place," he demurred, "very narrowing; sit down, sit down, good people! I'll take some more sherry. My grandson," he went on, as Helena filled his glass, "is always talking about you, madam. He's a great jackass. I'm afraid he bothers you with his calls?" "Oh, not at all," Helena said nervously. She sat down on the other side of the big rosewood centre-table, glancing with worried eyes at Lloyd Pryor. "Move that lamp contraption," commanded Mr. Wright. "I like to see my hostess!" And Helena pushed the astral lamp from the centre of the table so that his view was unobstructed. "Is he a nuisance with his talk about his drama?" Mr. Wright said, looking across at her with open eagerness in his melancholy eyes. "Why, no indeed." "Do you think it's so very bad, considering?" "It is not bad at all," said Mrs. Richie.