Templeton's "livery-rig" was standing at the foot of the wide shallow steps leading up to the Parthenon portico as we came in sight of it from the road. The shutters were open; feet and voices went to and fro inside. A tall slim girl in a red waist (it was a "jersey," I thought) and hat came out to the carriage and gave the driver some order. The agent appeared from the back of the house between two more tall people, a lady and gentleman. Templeton gesticulated, he flourished toward the grounds, he flourished toward the facade of Doric columns. The gentleman pulled his beard, which he wore in a long sharply pointing tuft on his chin, and listened with his head at an angle. "Jiminy! I'm glad I got that chimney fixed!" ejaculated Gwynne thoughtfully. "You know I'd like to take away those old iron stags and things from the front lawn, but Cousin Steven would fall down dead if I touched 'em." "Oh, I don't know, Gwynne, somehow they seem to suit the old place, they've been there so long. Wouldn't it be nice if these people turned out really--really _nice_, so that the house would be the way it was in your grandfather's time?" "It would _so_!" Gwynne agreed heartily. He looked about. Some way it seemed as if the thing were not wholly improbable; the fresh hopefulness of spring was in the air; pockets of new grass showed an excellent green, the trees were faintly rimmed with colour. All the thickets piped with birds. There were Arcadian vistas of many smooth mottled trunks and loftily stooping branches; the old house with its absurd classic front and assemblage of iron flocks and herds still became the landscape well. "It _is_ pretty, isn't it?" said the young man, earnestly. "I should think anybody'd like it, wouldn't you?" As he spoke, Templeton, an odd enough herald of good tidings, came scrunching hastily down the gravel drive from the house. He was too excited to notice my presence. "By gummy, Mr. Peters," he exclaimed breathlessly, as soon as he got within hearing distance, "I've landed 'em! You come on up to the house. Three years' lease--you come on up--privilege of purchase--you want to come right up and meet 'em--by gummy!" Gwynne came grinning to us afterwards, as Doctor Vardaman and I stood in the old gentleman's porch, to describe the interview. "I went up to the house," he said, "and here were Colonel Pallinder, looking like the Count of Monte Cristo, or the Chevalier de Maison Rouge, in a low-cut vest and a turn-down collar and black string-tie, and Mrs. Pallinder--by Jove, Templeton was right, she's an awfully handsome woman, and the _youngest_ looking, she might be her own daughter! She was one of their Southern belles, I suppose, only she's quite fair, light hair and a beautiful complexion--have you noticed her complexion, doctor?" "Mrs. Pallinder's complexion is remarkably well cared-for, I should say," said the doctor judicially.