"Is this place to let again, do you know?" said a voice in my ear, as I
stood looking at the private door which gave a separate entrance to that
evil-reputed library.
The question was a natural one, and the voice not unpleasant, yet I
started, having noticed no one near me.
"I beg your pardon," said the owner of the voice. "Nervous, I fear!"
"No, not at all, only my thoughts were wandering. I beg your pardon--I
do not know whether the place is to let or not."
"A good house?" This might have been interrogative, or uttered as an
assertion, but I took it as the former, and answered accordingly.
"Yes, a good house--a very good house, indeed," I said.
"It is often vacant, though," he said, with a light laugh.
"Through no fault of the house," I added.
"Oh! it is the fault of the tenants, is it?" he remarked, laughing once
more. "The owners, I should think, must be rather tired of their
property by this time."
"I do not know that," I replied. "They live in hope of finding a good
and sensible tenant willing to take it."
"And equally willing to keep it, eh?" he remarked. "Well, I, perhaps, am
not much of a judge in the matter, but I should say they will have to
wait a long time first."
"You know something about the house?" I said, interrogatively.
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