remembers it. She often asks in her letters whether any one has bought the Trevor place yet.”
Carrie Royce, Enid’s older sister, was a missionary in China.
“Well,” Bayliss admitted, “I didn’t buy it for an investment, exactly. I paid all it was worth.”
Enid turned to Gladys, who was apparently not listening. “You’d be the one who could plan a mansion for Trevor Hill, Gladys. You always have such original ideas about houses.”
“Yes, people who have no houses of their own often seem to have ideas about building,” said Gladys quietly. “But I like the Trevor place as it is. I hate to think that one of them is dead. People say they did have such good times up there.”
Bayliss grunted. “Call it good times if you like. The kids were still grubbing whiskey bottles out of the cellar when I first came to town. Of course, if I decide to live there, I’ll pull down that old trap and put up something modern.” He often took this gruff tone with Gladys in public.
Enid tried to draw the driver into the conversation. “There seems to be a difference of opinion here, Claude.”
“Oh,” said Gladys carelessly, “it’s Bayliss’ property, or soon will be. He will build what he likes. I’ve always known somebody would get that place away from me, so I’m prepared.”
“Get it away from you?” muttered Bayliss, amazed.
“Yes. As long as no one bought it and spoiled it, it was mine as much as it was anybody’s.”
“Claude,” said Enid banteringly, “now both your brothers have houses. Where are you going to have yours?”
“I don’t know that I’ll ever have one. I think I’ll run about
