“At the end of the summer when the note fell due Mrs. Feversham did not care to renew it; she was going to Washington and wished to use the money in New York.  The desert tract was all I had, and when Mr. Morganstein planned the motoring trip through the mountains and down to Portland, he offered to take a day to look the land over.  He did not want to encumber himself with any more real estate, he said, but would advise me on its possibilities for the market.  An accident to the car in Snoqualmie Pass obliged him to give up the excursion, and Marcia disposed of the note to him.  She said it could make little difference to me since her brother was willing to let the obligation rest until I was ready to meet it.  I do not blame her; there are some things Marcia Feversham and I do not see in the same light.  It isn’t so much through custom and breeding; it’s the way we were created, bone and spirit.”  Her voice broke but she laid her hand on the parapet again with a controlling grasp and added evenly, “That is the reason when Mr. Banks came I was so ready to accept his offer.”

“So, that was your debt of honor!” Foster began unsteadily; the words caught in his throat, and for an instant her face grew indistinct through the mist he could not keep back from his eyes.  “You knew you were traveling on thin ice; the break-up was almost on you, yet you handicapped yourself with those foundlings.  And you never told me.  I could have taken over that subscription, I should have been glad of the chance, you must have known that, but you allowed me to believe it was a loan to cover personal expenses.”

She met the reproach with a little fleeting smile.  “There were times when those accounts pressed, I am going to admit that, in justice to Elizabeth.  She always buoyed me through.  I have known her intimately for years.  We were at Mills Seminary together, and even then she was the most dependable, resourceful, generous girl in the school.  I never should have had the courage to dispose of things—­for money—­but she offered to.  Once it was the bracelet that had been my great-grandmother’s; the serpent, you remember, with jewelled scales and fascinating ruby eyes.  The Japanese consul bought it for his wife.  And once it was that dagger the first American Don Silva wore.  The design was Moorish, you know, with a crescent in the hilt of unique stones.  The collector who wanted it promised to give me the opportunity to redeem it if ever he wished to part with it, and Elizabeth had the agreement written and signed.”

“Like a true Morganstein.  But I knew how much she thought of you.  I used to remind myself, up there in the Iditarod wilderness, that you had her clear, practical sense and executive ability to rely on.”