She opened the door to admit Squire Davenport.

“Good-evening,” she said rather coldly, for she could not feel friendly to a man who was conspiring to deprive her of her modest home and turn her out upon the sidewalk.

“Good-evening, widow,” said the squire.

“Will you walk in?” asked Mrs. Barclay, not over cordially.

“Thank you, I will step in for five minutes.  I called to see if you had thought better of my proposal the other evening.”

“Your proposal was to take my house from me,” said Mrs. Barclay.  “How can you suppose I would think better of that?”

“You forget that the house is more mine than yours already, Mrs. Barclay.  The sum I have advanced on mortgage is two-thirds of the value of the property.”

“I dispute that, sir.”

“Let it pass,” said the squire, with a wave of the hand.  “Call it three-fifths, if you will.  Even then the property is more mine than yours.  Women don’t understand business, or you would see matters in a different light.”

“I am a woman, it is true, but I understand very well that you wish to take advantage of me,” said the widow, not without excusable bitterness.

“My good lady, you forget that I am ready to cancel the mortgage and pay you three hundred and fifty dollars for the house.  Now, three hundred and fifty dollars is a handsome sum—­a very handsome sum.  You could put it in the savings bank and it would yield you quite a comfortable income.”

“Twenty dollars, more or less,” said Mrs. Barclay.  “Is that what you call a comfortable income?  How long do you think it would keep us alive?”

“Added, of course, to your son’s wages.  Ben is now able to earn good wages.”

“He earns four dollars a week, and that is our main dependence.”

“I congratulate you.  I didn’t suppose Mr. Crawford paid such high wages.”

“Ben earns every cent of it.”

“Very possibly.  By the way, what is this that Tom was telling me about Ben being sent to New York to buy goods for the store?”

“It is true, if that is what you mean.”

“Bless my soul!  It is very strange of Crawford, and I may add, not very judicious.”

“I suppose Mr. Crawford is the best judge of that, sir.”

“Even if the boy were competent, which is not for a moment to be thought of, it is calculated to foster his self-conceit.”

“Ben is not self-conceited,” said Mrs. Barclay, ready to resent any slur upon her boy.  “He has excellent business capacity, and if he were older I should not need to ask favors of anyone.”

“You are a mother, and naturally set an exaggerated estimate upon your son’s ability, which, I presume, is respectable, but probably not more.  However, let that pass.  I did not call to discuss Ben but to inquire whether you had not thought better of the matter we discussed the other evening.”