He laughed aloud.  Mary did not laugh.

“They—­you said they were in trouble,” she said slowly.  “What sort of trouble?”

“Eh?  Oh, the usual kind.  The kind of goblin, young lady, which is likely to get us business men if we don’t watch out—­financial trouble.  The firm of Hamilton and Company has not kept abreast of the times, that’s all.  For years they did a good business and then some new competitors with up-to-date ideas came to town and—­puff!—­good-by to the old fogies.  They are in a bad way, I’m afraid, and will have to go under, unless—­eh?  But there! you aren’t particularly interested, I dare say.  It was your mention of Cape Cod which set me going.”

“Oh, but I am interested; I am, really.  They must go under, you say?  Fail, do you mean?”

“Yes, that is what I mean.  I am very sorry.  Our firm would go on selling them goods almost indefinitely for, as I have said, they are old customers and in a way old friends.  But they are absolutely honest and they will not buy what they cannot pay for.  We have some pitiful letters from them—­not whining, you know, but straightforward and frank.  They don’t ask favors, but tell us just where they stand and leave it to us to refuse credit if we see fit.  It is just one of the little tragedies of life, Miss Lathrop, but I’m mighty sorry for those two old friends of my father’s and mine.  And the worst of it is that, from inquiries I have made, it would seem that they have been sacrificing themselves by spending their money lavishly and uselessly on someone else.  They have a girl in the family, a sort of adopted niece, whatever that is, and, not content with bringing her up like a sensible, respectable country girl, they must dress her like a millionaire’s daughter and send her off to some extravagantly expensive seminary where—­Why, what is the matter?  Eh?  Good heavens!  What have I been saying?  You don’t know these people, do you?”

Mary turned a very white face toward his.

“They are my uncles,” she said.  “My home is at South Harniss.  Please excuse me, Mr. Green.”

She rose and walked away.  A few minutes later, when Mr. Howe approached the sofa, he found his friend sitting thereon, staring at nothing in particular and fervently repeating under his breath, “The devil!  The devil!  The devil!”

Mary got away as soon as she could.  Her looks attracted Barbara’s attention and the young lady asked if she were not feeling well.  Mary replied that she was not, and although it was not serious please might she be permitted to go home at once?  She was sent home in the automobile and when she reached her own room her first act was to find and open Isaiah’s letter which had arrived that afternoon.  With trembling fingers she held it beneath the gas jet and this is what she read: 

DEAR MARY AUGUSTA: