"The Old Scratch and his wife," he declared. "I hope they didn't
see me, but--Land of love, they're comin' in!"
A majestic tread sounded in the hall, in the dining-room. Mrs.
George Powless appeared, severe, overwhelming, with Mr. George
Powless in her wake. The former saw Mr. Winslow and fixed him with
her glittering eye, as the Ancient Mariner fixed the wedding guest.
"Ah!" she observed, with majestic irony, "the lost key is found, it
would seem."
Jed looked guilty.
"Yes, ma'am," he faltered. "Er--yes, ma'am."
"So? And now, I presume, as it is apparent that you do show the
interior of this house to other interested persons," with a glance
like a sharpened icicle in the direction of the Armstrongs,
"perhaps you will show it to my husband and me."
Jed swallowed hard.
"Well, ma'am," he faltered, "I--I'd like to, but--but the fact is,
I--"
"Well, what?"
"It ain't my house."
"Isn't your house? George," turning to Mr. Powless, "didn't I hear
this man distinctly tell you that this house WAS his?"
George nodded. "Certainly, my dear," he declared. Then turning to
Mr. Winslow, he demanded: "What do you mean by saying it is yours
one moment and not yours the next; eh?"
Jed looked around. For one instant his gaze rested upon the face
of Mrs. Armstrong. Then he drew himself up.
"Because," he declared, "I've rented it furnished to this lady
here.
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