“Hang me if I know! We were talking, as quietly as possible, about some trivial matter or other,—entirely trivial, I assure you,—and, all of a sudden, up he leaped in the air as though he had been shot. Let me see, what _were_ we talking about?” And Mr. Whacker rested his forehead upon his hand. “Let—me—see. No, I can’t for the life of me remember. The ‘theatricals,’ as you call them, must have driven everything out of my head; but they were nothings that we were saying, I assure you.” “You remember that, when I left the room, you were teasing me about not falling in love with Lucy Poythress?” “Yes, yes, yes; now I have it! Well, after you went out, I told him what friends you and Mrs. Poythress were, and how you paid her a weekly visit, rain or shine,—ah, yes, and how once you were upset, when you would cross the river in spite of my remonstrances, and so on and so on.” “That was all?” “Every word. Why, you were not out of the room two minutes!” “H’m!” And Charley slowly filled his pipe, and, lighting it, went out upon the lawn, where he walked haltingly up and down for some time. Quickly raising his eyes at last, and fixing them inquiringly upon the Poythress mansion, nestling across the river, in its clump of trees, he gazed at it with a look, now intent, now abstracted. “Can it be?” he muttered; and he stood long, chin upon breast, buried in thought; but what these thoughts were he breathed to no man. CHAPTER XXII. So, after all, my grandfather lost his opportunity of explaining to the Don how he came to build the Hall. No doubt he will do so as soon as the latter returns from his walk. But there are reasons why I prefer to give my own account of the matter. The truth is, I believe my narration will be more exactly in accordance with the facts of the case than Mr. Whacker’s would be. For, my grandfather (though as truthful as ever man was) having, like the rest of us, a great deal of human nature in him, did not always see very clearly what his own motives were; and, had he been asked why he had constructed this rather superfluous building, would have given an answer at variance with what Charley’s or mine would have been. Now, had either of us been questioned, confidentially, and apart from our friend, we would have unhesitatingly affirmed that he had built the Hall as a home for his quartet; but had he, perchance, overheard us, he would have denied this, and not without heat. And this is easily explicable.