“Neither have I,” he said; “but I am going to have one.”
“Are you? Where?”
“In the country.”
“Whereabouts in the country?”
“I don’t know yet.” Then, in a tone that was rapt, if not actually
reverent, he said, “Yes, some day I’ll have a house in the country.”
“When?”
“I wish I knew,” Appleby said. “As soon as I save enough to build the
house and to provide a small income for myself.”
“You’re married then?”
“Oh, no; no, indeed. Nothing like that,” he assured me hastily.
“Then what the dickens do you want with a house in the country?”
“I’ll tell you,” said Appleby. “Where can we go and talk?”