1. ” “It is an accident,” he answered. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. . His exploits and escapes are in every body's mouth. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. She was honest again. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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