“I leave it to you, Jinny. I reckon I can trust you. But there’s one thing I want to say.” He hesitated, then he finished firmly: “That boy, William, disappoints me. He’s lost his grip. He’s been keeping gay company, I reckon, and he looks as if he’d been drinking. If it wasn’t for his lameness, Daniel’s twice the man!” Virginia said nothing. She couldn’t; her heart was beating in her throat. She remembered William’s face when she returned the ring. The colonel kept his hand on her shoulder, and they stood together, looking out across the close-cut lawn. Lucas, having put up the horses, was running a lawn-mower near the gate. It was that hour when the shadows begin to lengthen and one perceives the fragrance of the honeysuckle. It seemed to penetrate the late, warm afternoon, and to gather bees. “Jinny, who’s that man--the fat man with a bald head?” the colonel asked presently. “He’s either a real-estate man or a lunatic. He wants to buy the place, I reckon. See him?” Virginia, who had been in a trance, roused herself. Her eyes fell on a stout figure advancing toward the piazza, hat in hand. “He wants to tune the piano, grandpa, or to varnish the mahogany tables.” She laughed softly, and fled lightly toward the door. “I’m going. You can send him away. I refuse to be varnished!” The colonel heard her flight to the stairs; but he stood his ground and waited, a twinkle in his eye. The stout man approached steadily, with an expression of genial politeness. He had an air of feeling his own importance, but being willing to condescend. He wore a finely-tailored suit, a sport necktie with a diamond pin, and in the sunshine, his bald head looked like a piece of polished pink coral set in Florida moss. “Colonel Denbigh, I believe?” he said suavely. The colonel bowed politely. “That’s my name, sir.” Mr. Bernstein presented his card. “I’d like a word with you, colonel. Strictly business--important, confidential business.” The colonel regarded him a moment with the same twinkle in his eyes; then he descended the piazza steps. “Come this way, Mr. Bernstein. I like to sit out of doors. Have a cigar?” Mr. Bernstein accepted. They had reached the back of the house now, and he stopped short. “Gee, what a view! Ain’t that about three thousand feet out there? Finest three-reel picture I ever got in a bird’s-eye view! Only wants a little life in it, colonel--a cow and a rough-rider, and maybe a couple of bandits. It’s just the set--with them mountains behind.” The colonel, who had reached his favorite seat under the horse-chestnut, looked startled. “I reckon you’re a movie man, aren’t you?” he inquired mildly. “Had ’em before?” Mr. Bernstein looked anxious. “One or two. This place seems to appeal to them. Sit down, Mr. Bernstein, you’ll find that seat comfortable. I always take this one--I’m getting old and set in my ways. I suppose it’s the place you’re interested in?”