"Reggie Forcus has ridden past three times this afternoon, mama," Bessie informed her parent. Then turned sharply on her sister, "You were at school, miss." "I met him as I came away," said Deleah, seating herself at the table. "I wish the pleasure had been yours instead of mine, Bessie." "Did he stop to speak?" "Of course he stopped. He always stops." "Well?" "He asked for you." "He always does, I suppose?" "Always." "There!" said Bessie on the note of triumph, looking round. "There!" echoed Deleah as she helped herself to the mustard Mr. Gibbon was offering her. "Mama, do you hear Deda? She is not to mock me." "Bread, Miss Deleah? Pickles, Mrs. Day?" hastily interposes an obsequious Mr. Gibbon. He was assiduous in his attentions on the ladies, ever anxiously polite and kind. That he found his happiness among them and was eager to gain and to retain their favour he plainly showed. If he sometimes jarred on their fastidiousness he did not know it. "Any interesting incident in the day's trade, ma'am?" he asked, as he busied himself in supplying their wants. Nothing much. The Quaker lady had been again for sugar. Again Mrs. Day had unconditionally pledged herself that the canes from which it had been derived had not been grown by slaves. "And have they?" Deleah asked. "I'm sure, my dear, I don't know if they have or they haven't," a harassed grocer-woman acknowledged. Her conscience was becoming blunted in the stress and strain of business life. "She took a pound of it as usual, and that's all I can say about it." "But, mama! For the sake of the profit on a pound of sugar!" "There's no profit on it at all, Bessie. If she had taken a quarter of a pound of tea with it there would have been three-ha'pence into our pockets. But she did not. So you see I perjured myself for nothing." "Don't let the thought trouble you for an instant, ma'am," Mr. Gibbon advised. "None of us can afford to be too nice in trade. We've got to live, Miss Bessie. Customers don't think so--they'd skin us if they could--but we have. I'm of Mr. Boult's mind on that subject, although there isn't much I uphold him in. 'Let us do our best for the public while it pays reasonable prices,' he says, 'and when it won't, let us _do_ the public.'" "All that is so low, Mr. Gibbon." "But it's business, Miss Bessie. Business is low." "Oh, don't let us talk about it now," Deleah pleads. "Deleah has a secret. She's dying to tell us all," Deleah's mother said. "It's something Deleah's been up to!" "No, Bess. Calm yourself. Calm all yourselves." "But how can we? Out with it, darling." "It's nothing, mama." "Nothing?" "Only an idea of mine." "Something you've been and made up, Deda!" "Something I'm as sure of, Bessie, as I am that you're always dying to find fault with me. Thank you, Mr. Gibbon, I've got _three_ pieces of bread already, look!" "You've handed Deleah bread three times in as many minutes, Mr. Gibbon."