“I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. She was gone. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price. He laughed reassuringly. Only a son’s another story.
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