The quiet question seemed to invoke a vision for John Taylor; the gray
eyes took on the faraway look of a seer; the thin, bloodless lips formed
a smile in which there was nothing pleasant.

"They keep their mouths shut or we squeeze 'em and buy the land. We
propose to own the cotton belt of the South."

Colonel Cresswell started indignantly from his seat.

"Do you think--by God, sir!--that I'd betray Southern gentlemen to--"

But Harry's hand and impassive manner restrained him; he cooled as
suddenly as he had flared up.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Taylor," he concluded; "we'll consider this
matter carefully. You'll spend the night, of course."

"Can't possibly--must catch that next train back."

"But we must talk further," the Colonel insisted. "And then, there's
your sister."

"By Jove! Forgot all about Mary." John Taylor after a little desultory
talk, followed his host up-stairs.

The next afternoon John Taylor was sitting beside Helen Cresswell on the
porch which overlooked the terrace, and was, on the whole, thinking less
of cotton than he had for several years. To be sure, he was talking
cotton; but he was doing it mechanically and from long habit, and was