“Honor!” repeated the Bishop, scornfully.
Talboys interposed again: “We appear to be sold, Bishop; don’t you think we had better get out of this before the hearse comes?”
Demming waved his hand at Talboys, saying in his smoothest tones, “Ef you meet it, Cunnel, p’raps you’d kin’ly tell ’em ter go on ter Mose Barnwell’s. He’s ready an’ waitin’.”
“Demming—” began the Bishop, but he did not finish the sentence; instead, he lifted his hat to Mrs. Demming, with his habitual stately courtesy, and moved in a slow and dignified manner to the carriage. Louise followed, only stopping to say to the still weeping woman, “He is in no danger from us; but this trick was a poor return for my father’s kindness.”
Demming had been rubbing his right eyebrow obliquely with his hand, thus making a shield behind which he winked at the coachman in a friendly and humorous manner; at Louise’s words, his hand fell and his face changed quickly. “Don’ say thet, miss,” he said, a ring of real emotion in his voice. “I know I’m purty po’ pickings, but I ain’t ongrateful. Yo’ par will remember I wyouldn’t tek no money frum him!”
“I would have given fifty dollars,” cried the Bishop, “rather than have had this—this scandalous fraud! Drive on!”
They drove away. The last they saw of Demming he was blandly waving his hand.
The drive back from the house so unexpectedly disclosed as not a house of mourning was somewhat silent. The Bishop was the first to speak. “I shall insist upon returning every cent of that money,” he said.
“I assure you none of us will take it,” Talboys answered; “and really, you know, the sell was quite worth the money.”