Edith knew this and had insisted on sending me home by nine o'clock, with strict orders to go to bed at once.
The house in which I lived had been occupied by three generations of the family of which I was the only living representative in the direct line.

It was a large, ancient wooden mansion, very elegant in an old-fashioned way within, but situated in a quarter that had long since become undesirable for residence, from its invasion by tenement houses and manufactories.

It was not a house to which I could think of bringing a bride, much less so dainty a one as Edith Bartlett.

I had advertised it for sale, and meanwhile merely used it for sleeping purposes, dining at my club.

One servant, a faithful colored man by the name of Sawyer, lived with me and attended to my few wants.