“Don’t touch me,” screamed Mr. Piper, retreating behind a table, “it’s all a mistake. All a joke. I’m not a broker’s man. Ha! ha!”
“Eh?” said the other; “not a broker’s man? What are you, then?”
In eager, trembling tones Mr. Piper told him, and, gathering confidence as he proceeded, related the conversation which had led up to his imposture. Mr. Cox listened in a dazed fashion, and as he concluded threw himself into a chair, and gave way to a terrible outburst of grief.
“The way I’ve worked for that woman,” he said, brokenly, “to think it should come to this! The deceit of the thing; the wickedness of it. My heart is broken; I shall never be the same man again—never!”
Mr. Piper made a sympathetic noise.
“It’s been very unpleasant for me,” he said, “but my niece is so masterful.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Mr. Cox, kindly; “shake hands.”
They shook hands solemnly, and Mr. Piper, muttering something about a draught, closed the window.
“You might have been killed in trying to jump out of that window,” said Mr. Cox; “fancy the feelings of those two deceitful women then.”
“Fancy my feelings!” said Mr. Piper, with a shudder. “Playing with fire, that’s what I call it. My niece is coming this afternoon; it would serve her right if you gave her a fright by telling her you had killed me. Perhaps it would be a lesson to her not to be so officious.”