The house was a wooden two-story arrangement, built by a misguided contractor in a sort of hideous Queen Anne style, all scrolls and meaningless mill work, with a cheap imitation of stained glass in the light over the door.

There was a microscopic front yard full of dusty calla-lilies.

The front door boasted an electric bell.

But for the McTeagues it was an ideal home.
Their idea was to live in this little house, the dentist retaining merely his office in the flat.

The two places were but around the corner from each other, so that McTeague could lunch with his wife, as usual, and could even keep his early morning appointments and return to breakfast if he so desired.
However, the house was occupied.