The old man's words were spurted out in the bitterness of scorn.
The girl listened with a cool incredulity in her eyes, and went
back to her work.

"Miss Herne is the lady,--my partner's daughter. Herne and
Holmes they'll call the firm. He is here every, day, counting
future profit."

Nothing could be read on the face; so he left her, cursing, as he
went, men who put themselves up at auction,--worse than Orleans
slaves. Margret laughed to herself at his passion; as for the
story he hinted, it was absurd. She forgot it in a moment.

Two or three gentlemen down in one of the counting-rooms, just
then, looked at the story from another point of view. They were
talking low, out of hearing from the clerks.

"It's a good thing for Holmes," said one, a burly, farmer-like
man, who was choosing specimens of wool.

"Cheap. And long credit. Just half the concern he takes."

"There is a lady in the case?" suggested a young doctor, who, by
virtue of having spent six months in the South, dropped his r-s,
and talked of "niggahs" in a way to make a Georgian's hair stand
on end.

"A lady in the case?"

"Of course. Only child of Herne's. HE comes down with the dust