not getting married which had ever come under my attention. I bowed stiffly, and inquired where I could find Mr. Berrith’s property.
“You can find some of it on top of this rock,” she retorted. “I’m his daughter.”
I explained with dignity that the particular property to which I referred consisted of three acres which were for sale for building purposes, and, in reply, she indicated her immediate surroundings with a little wave of her hand.
“Father was to have been here to show you the place,” she said, “but he was unexpectedly detained in town. I’m Miss Berrith. I came over in his stead to save you the annoyance of walking a mile to the house.”
“Thank you,” I answered, smothering my desire to say that, in respect to annoyance, a miss is as bad as a mile.
There was something in her presence which robbed the occasion of half the pleasure I had
