Excerpt: "Diana Royall pushed back the music-rack and rose from her seat at the piano. “Show the person in here, Kingdom.” The negro disappeared, and Diana moved slowly to the table at the farther end of the long room, and stood there turning over some papers in her leisurely, graceful way. “Who in the world is it now?” Mrs. Eaton asked, looking up from her solitaire, “a book agent?” “Caleb Trench,” Diana replied carelessly, “the shopkeeper at Eshcol.” “The storekeeper?” Mrs. Eaton looked as if Diana had said the chimney-sweep. “What in the world does he want of you, my dear?” Diana laughed. “How should I know?” she retorted, with a slight scornful elevation of her brows; “we always pay cash there.”"
