‘Mr. Archer,’ said he, as soon as they were alone together, ‘would you give me a guinea-piece for silver?’
‘Why, sir, I believe I can,’ said Mr. Archer.
And the exchange was just effected when Nance re-entered the apartment. The blood shot into her face.
‘What’s to do here?’ she asked rudely.
‘Nothing, my dearie,’ said old Jonathan, with a touch of whine.
‘What’s to do?’ she said again.
‘Your uncle was but changing me a piece of gold,’ returned Mr. Archer.
‘Let me see what he hath given you, Mr. Archer,’ replied the girl. ‘I had a bad piece, and I fear it is mixed up among the good.’
‘Well, well,’ replied Mr. Archer, smiling, ‘I must take the merchant’s risk of it. The money is now mixed.’
‘I know my piece,’ quoth Nance. ‘Come, let me see your silver, Mr. Archer. If I have to get it by a theft I’ll see that money,’ she cried.