“My aunt spoke of it,” Helen answered; “the Eversons' old home.”
“Yes,” said the other; “you know it, then?”
“I only saw it once in my life, when I was a very little girl,” Helen replied, “and so I have only a dim recollection of its magnificence; the old man who lived there never saw any company.”
“It had to be sold because he failed in business,” said Mr. Harrison. “Would you like to drive over?”
“Very much,” said Helen, and a minute later, when they came to a fork in the road, they took the one which led them to “Fairview,” as the place was called.
“I think it a tremendously fine property myself,” said Mr. Harrison; “I made up my mind to have it the first time I saw it. I haven't seen anything around here to equal it, and I hope to make a real English country-seat out of it. I'll tell you about what I want to do when we get there, and you can give me your advice; a man never has good taste, you know.”
“I should like to see it,” answered Helen, smiling; “I have a passion for fixing up things.”
“We had an exciting time at the sale,” went on Mr. Harrison reminiscently. “You know Mr. Everson's family wanted to keep the place themselves, and the three or four branches of the family had clubbed together to buy it; when the bidding got near the end, there was no one left but the family and myself.”
“And you got it?” said Helen. “How cruel!”
“The strongest wins,” laughed the other. “I had made up my mind to have it. The Eversons are a very aristocratic family, aren't they?”