"I--I like it very much. It is just
what I wanted--in--in every way."
Deacon Whittle gave vent to a snort of astonishment.
"There was another party looking at the place a spell back," he said,
rubbing his dry old hands. "I dunno's I exac'ly give him an option on
it; but I was sort of looking for him to turn up 'most any day.
Course I'd have to give him the first chance, if it comes to a--"
"What is an option?" asked Lydia.
"An option is a--now, let me see if I can make a legal term plain to
the female mind: An option, my dear young lady, is--"
The minister crossed the floor to where the girl was standing, a
slight, delicate figure in her black dress, her small face under the
shadowy brim of her wide had looking unnaturally pale in the greenish
light from without.
"An option," he interposed hurriedly, "must be bought with money;
should you change your mind later you lose whatever you have paid.
Let me advise you--"
Deacon Whittle cleared his throat with an angry, rasping sound.
"Me an' this young lady came here this morning for the purpose of
transacting a little business, mutually advantageous," he snarled.
"If it was anybody but the dominie, I should say he was butting in
without cause."
"Oh, don't, please!" begged the girl. "Mr. Elliot meant it kindly,
I'm sure. I--I want an option, if you please. You'll let me have it,
won't you? I want it--now."
Deacon Whittle blinked and drew back a pace or two, as if her
eagerness actually frightened him.
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