his purpose well. It seemed to come naturally enough that he should say—
"And you have no daughter?"
There was an instantaneous change in the mother's face. Her lips closed more firmly, she looked down, swept her hands outward on the counter, and finally turned her back on Deronda to examine some Indian handkerchiefs that hung in pawn behind her. Her son gave a significant glance, set up his shoulders an instant and just put his finger to his lips,—then said quickly, "I think you're a first-rate gentleman in the city, sir, if I may be allowed to guess."
"No," said Deronda, with a preoccupied air, "I have nothing to do with the city."
"That's a bad job. I thought you might be the young principal of a first-rate firm," said Mr Cohen, wishing to make amends for the check on his customer's natural desire to know more of him and his. "But you understand silver-work, I see."
"A little," said Deronda, taking up the clasps a moment and laying them down again. That unwelcome bit of circumstantial evidence had made his mind busy with a plan which was certainly more like acting than anything he had been aware of in his own conduct before. But the bare possibility that more knowledge might
