He looked round and espied a chair, which he brought up close to the bed.

Rosie was far too excited and shy to speak.

“What’s your name?” he began.  “Mine is Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill.”

The little girl whispered “Rosamund.”

“I’ve got a sister called Rosamund; now, isn’t that curious?” cried Timmy.

He had already seized the scissors, and was engaged in cutting out some quaint, fantastic looking little figures.

After the others had left the room, Rosamund’s mother turned to Betty.  “I never saw such a nice, kind, young gentleman!” she exclaimed.  “He fair took my breath away—­a regular little doctor he’d make.”

* * * * *

Houses are like people—­they have their day, their hour, even, one feels inclined to add, their moods of sadness and of joy, of brightness and of dulness.

To-day the white Corinthian-looking building called Doryford House was at its best, in the soft lambent light of an autumn day.  For a moment, when the long, pillared building first came into view, Radmore had felt a thrill of unreasonable disappointment.  He had hoped, somehow, for a red-brick manor-house—­a kind of glorified Old Place.  But a few minutes later, when the mahogany front doors had been unlocked, and they passed into a light, circular hall and so into a delightful-looking sunny drawing-room filled with enchanting examples of 18th century furniture, he began to think that this was, after all, a very attractive house.

“In what wonderful order everything seems to be!” he exclaimed.  “Have the people to whom the place belongs only just left it?”

“It’s this way, sir.  The gentleman to whom it belongs has several other homes—­he don’t care for this place at all.  But it’s all kep’ up proper—­one of the gardeners sees to the furnace—­and about all this here furniture, anybody who takes the house unfurnished, or buys the place, will be able to keep what they likes at a valuation.  Perhaps you and your lady would like to go over the house by yourselves?  People often do, I notice.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just nip away.  I wants to go to the village for a few minutes—­that is if your little boy will be so kind as to stay with my Rosie till I’m back.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Radmore heartily.  He told himself that it was very natural that everyone should think that he and Betty were married.

The front door shut behind the caretaker, and the two left behind began going through the ground floor of the great empty house.  Their progress gave Betty an eerie feeling.  She felt as if she was in a kind of dream; the more so that this was quite unlike any country house into which she had ever been.

They finally came to the last living-room of all, and both exclaimed together:  “This is the room I like best of all!”

It was an octagon library, lined with mahogany bookcases filled with bound books which looked as though they hadn’t been disturbed for fifty years.  The wide, fan-shaped window looked out on a formal rose garden.