"How horrid of you to bring me here," she whispered. "I hate the sight of it now."
"But why? Queer things girls are, to be sure."
"If it’s queer not to stare at what one can’t have, I’m queer," said the young lady rather shortly. "I was never one to flatten my nose against the window of a hat-shop when I’d no money to buy hats."
"You’re a sensible little dear! But I brought you here because the place is sold. I knew that would cure you. Now oughtn’t we to have a squint at the first?"
"It would make me squint to look at it now."
"You said you would live happily in a tent with me."
"That’s a horrid thought with our two lives to live out together."
He looked so sorry because he couldn’t understand women that Susan kissed him, having satisfied herself that nobody was in sight. She said softly:
"Well, Joe, it is really my fault because I did disguise my disappointment very cleverly, didn’t I?"
"Disguise it? Bless your simple heart! I saw two fat tears rolling down your cheeks. I was the one who disguised my disappointment."
Whereat Susan protested stoutly that she had never seen any man look so disgusted as her Joe, when the agent mentioned the price of the Dream Cottage. She concluded on a high note of assurance.
"Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. Now that we’re here, we’ll go in, and I’ll let it soak in that the place is really and truly sold." Quinney nodded, and Miss Biddlecombe continued fluently, "After I’ve seen it once more I shall never give it another thought."
"I tell you I shan’t, and besides, the river is certainly dangerous."
She blushed delightfully, pressing his arm, but saying nothing. Quinney, divining her thoughts, fell more in love with her than ever. She went on artlessly, "I expect the house is damp in winter."
"I never heard you ask. I’m feeling quite happy about it now. I wonder whether the people who have bought it have moved in?"
He was able to assure her that they hadn’t. But she asked immediately how he had come to know of the sale.
"To make inquiries about other cottages, of course."
They passed through a wicket-gate into a small garden gay in summer with larkspurs, hollyhocks, and what children call "red-hot pokers." A path of flagged stones wandered round the house.