“Mrs. Aiken,” said she, coming at once to the point, “you have often remarked that you would like to own that piano of mine.  Were you really in earnest?”

“In earnest?  Certainly I was.”  Mrs. Aiken smiled, at the same time that a slight expression of surprise came into her face.  “It’s one of the finest instruments I ever touched.”

“It’s for sale,” said Mrs. Brainard, in a firm, business-like way.  “So there is a chance for you to call it your own.”

“For sale!  Why do you say that, Anna?”

“It’s too costly an instrument for me to own.  My old piano is a very good one—­quite good enough for all my purposes.”

“But this is your husband’s wedding-gift, if I remember rightly?”

“I know it is; but the gift was too costly a one for a young man whose salary is only a thousand dollars a year.”

“Then he wishes to sell it.”

“No, indeed, not he!”

“And would you sell it without consulting him?” said Mrs. Aiken.

“Such is my intention.”

“He might be very much displeased.”

“No matter; I would soon smooth his frowning brow.  But, Mrs. Aiken, we won’t discuss that matter.  The instrument is to be sold.  Do you want it?”

“I do.”

“Very well.  Are you prepared to buy it?”

“Perhaps so.  It cost four hundred dollars?”

“Yes.”

“What is your price?”

“The same.”

“Then you make no deduction?” said Mrs. Aiken, smiling.

“I wouldn’t like to do that.  It’s as good as new.  If I can sell it, I want to be able to put in my husband’s hands just what he paid for it.”

“Oh, then you want the money for your husband?”

“Certainly, I do.  What use have I for four hundred dollars?”

“You’ve come just in time, Anna,” said Mrs. Aiken.  “I arranged with my husband to meet him this morning, at his store, to go and look at some pianos.  But if yours is really for sale, we have no occasion to take any further trouble.”

“It is for sale, Mrs. Aiken.  Understand this.”

“Very well.  When do you want the money?”

“This morning.”

“I don’t know about that.  However, I will see Mr. Aiken immediately.”

“Shall I wait here for you?”

“You may do so, or I will call at your house.”

“Do that, if you please.”

“Very well.  In an hour, at most, I will see you.”

The two ladies then parted.

When Mr. Brainard left his house that morning, he felt wretched.  Where—­how was he to get four hundred dollars?  To go to the party from whom he had bought the piano, and confess that he was not able to pay for it, had in it something so humiliating, that he could not bear the thought for a moment.  But if the note was not paid,—­what then?  Might not the instrument be demanded?  And how could he give it up now?  Or, worse, might it not be seized under execution?