Summary

Portrait of Lily A. Long Lily A. Long The Red House on Rowan Street

And of course Henry would neither tell himself, nor thank Burton for telling, a piece of news that would be gossip and cause for laughter in a small town like High Ridge. It was unfortunate that Henry should have fixed his affections upon so unstable a creature as the pretty Miss Hadley, anyhow. Why couldn't he have had the judgment to choose some one like--well, like his sister Leslie, who would have walked by the side of the man she loved down into the valley of the shadow of death if need be?
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Lily A. Long Lily A. Long The Red House on Rowan Street

Underwood's tax list.
"He couldn't own that, could he?" asked the man, pointing dramatically at the tulip about which he had been building up the earth.
"You are a philosopher as well as a gardener."
"I?" The man stood up, and Burton saw that he was young, and that his face, in spite of its somberness, was intelligent and not unattractive. "Oh, I am a human being, like the rest of the impertinent race. I try to forget what I am, but I have no right to. You do well to remind me."
"Why do you wish to forget?" asked Burton curiously.
"Who that is human would not wish to forget?
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Lily A. Long Lily A. Long The Red House on Rowan Street

If Henry was in truth innocent, if the doctor was the guileless child of light that he seemed, if Miss Leslie had been involved in all this tangle by a cruel trick of Fate's, then certainly here was work waiting for him. He was no detective, but neither was this the ordinary melodrama of crime. It was rather a psychological problem, and it was just possible that he was better fitted to get at the truth of the matter than a professional who would have less human interest in the persons involved.
Source: Gutenberg

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