His affected ignorance deepened the lines on her face. Instead of bluster he was using _finesse_! “I think you ought to know, Mr. Colwell,” she said, meaningly. “Well, I really don’t. I remember you wouldn’t heed my advice when I told you not to sell out, and again when I advised you to buy them back.” “Yes, at 96½,” she burst out, indignantly. “Well, if you had, you would to-day have a profit of over $7,000.” “And whose fault is it that I haven’t?” She paused for a reply. Receiving none, she went on: “But never mind; I have decided to accept your offer,” very bitterly, as if a poor widow could not afford to be a chooser; “I’ll take those bonds at 96½.” And she added, under her breath: “Although it really ought to be 93.” “But, Mrs. Hunt,” said Colwell, in measureless astonishment, “you can’t do that, you know. You wouldn’t buy them when I wanted you to, and I can’t buy them for you now at 96½. Really, you ought to see that.” Cousin Emily and she had gone over a dozen imaginary interviews with Mr. Colwell—of varying degrees of storminess—the night before, and they had, in an idle moment, and not because they really expected it, represented Mr. Colwell as taking that identical stand. Mrs. Hunt was, accordingly, prepared to show both that she knew her moral and technical rights, and that she was ready to resist any attempt to ignore them. So she said, in a voice so ferociously calm that it should have warned any guilty man: “Mr. Colwell, will you answer me one question?” “A thousand, Mrs. Hunt, with pleasure.” “No; only one. Have you kept the bonds that I bought, or have you not?” “What difference does that make, Mrs. Hunt?” He evaded the answer! “Yes or no, please. Have you, or have you not, those same identical bonds?” “Yes; I have. But——” “And to whom do those bonds belong, by rights?” She was still pale, but resolute. “To me, certainly.” “To _you_, Mr. Colwell?” She smiled. And in her smile were a thousand feelings; but not mirth. “Yes, Mrs. Hunt, to me.” “And do you propose to keep them?” “I certainly do.” “Not even if I pay 96½ will you give them to me?” “Mrs. Hunt,” Colwell said with warmth “when I took those bonds off your hands at 93 it represented a loss on paper of $3,000——” She smiled in pity—pity for his judgment in thinking her so hopelessly stupid. “And when you wanted me to sell them back to you at 93 after they had risen to 96½, if I had done as you wished, it would have meant an actual loss of $3,000 to me.” Again she smiled—the same smile, only the pity was now mingled with rising indignation. “For Harry’s sake I was willing to pocket the first loss, in order that you might not worry. But I didn’t see why I should make you a present of $3,000,” he said, very quietly. “I never asked you to do it,” she retorted, hotly.