It was Julia Templeton herself who now appeared with certain of the
intimate and precious "bedroom things"--a wonderful old linen
bedspread, wrought upon with woollen figures, and exaling an ancient and
exquisite odour of lavender, and a rag rug or so, and a little old
rocking chair with chintz coverings in which more than one Templeton
mother had rocked her baby to sleep. Julia herself----

I saw Julia, that hard-favoured woman, for the first time at that
moment, really saw her. How fiercely she threw down the spread and the
rugs! How bold and unweeping her eyes! How hard and straight the lines
of her mouth!

"Here they are, Mr. Harpworth!"

How shrill her voice; and how quickly she turned back to the noisy
kitchen! I could see the angular form, the streakings of gray in her
hair. ...

"What am I offered now for this precious antique? This hand-made spread?
Everything sold without reserve! Come, now, don't let this opportunity
slip by." He leaned forward confidentially and persuasively: "Fellah
citizens, styles change and fashions pass away, but things made like
these, good lines, strong material, honest work, they never grow
old...."

Here the Shadowy Auctioneer broke in again and lifted me out of that
limited moment.

"A true word!" he was saying. "Styles change and fashions pass away, and
only those things that are well made, and made for service the beautiful