“Our horses are afraid of his automobiles, and his liveried grooms have turned the head of one of our maids. Our little place is not in the market, thank you, Mr. Walker.”
The broker’s beaming countenance showed no sign of discouragement. He rearranged the gay blue flower which had almost detached itself from the lapel of his coat, then said laconically:
“I am authorized by Mr. Anderson to offer you $500,000 for your property.”
“What?” exclaimed Miss Rebecca.
“Half a million dollars for six acres,” he added.
“The man must be crazy.” Miss Rebecca stepped to the honeysuckle vine with a detached air and snipped off a straggling tendril with her shears. “That is a large sum of money,” she added.
David Walker enjoyed the effect of his announcement; it was clear that he had produced an impression.
“Money is no object to him. I told him that you did not wish to sell, and he said that he would make it worth your while.”
“Half a million dollars! We should be nearly rich,” let fall Miss Carry, upon whom the full import of the offer was breaking.
“Yes; and think what good you two ladies could do with all that money—practical good,” continued the broker, pressing his opportunity and availing himself of his knowledge of their aspirations. “You could buy elsewhere and have enough left over to endow a professorship at Bryn Mawr, Miss Rebecca; and you, Miss Carry, would be able to revel in charitable donations.”