s a large banking business."

"That is what puzzles me; why should he decline my account?"

"I don't believe he meant just that," Huntington explained; "he probably
wanted you to understand that he was not looking for business from his
friends."

"No, he flatly refused to accept it; for I tried to insist upon it. I
know few people here now, and I didn't feel like entrusting so
considerable a sum to any institution, however well recommended, without
personal acquaintance with some of its officers."

"I don't understand it."

"Nor I. Of course, I had no alternative, so I deposited it in the bank
Thatcher suggested."

"Did you see much of the family while you were in New York?" Huntington
queried.

Hamlen looked up quickly, with a return of the apprehensive expression
his face had worn earlier.

"I saw them several times," he said. Then, after a moment's hesitation,
he added: "Later, you must let me impose still further upon your
friendship. I have no one else to counsel me."

Hamlen's voice was apologetic.

"I sha'n't consider that you accept my friendship at its par value
unless you call upon me in any way I can be of service to you."

"Then perhaps you won't mind if I speak now," Hamlen responded eagerly.
"It really has been preying upon me until I am unfitted for anything
else. It would be a relief to share it."

After saying this Hamlen found it more difficult to continue. "You
probably don't know," he said at length, "that Mrs. Thatcher and I knew
each other intimately years ago."

"Yes," Huntington acknowledged frankly; "Mrs. Thatcher told me, while we
were in Bermuda."

Hamlen was relieved. "It was a very close intimacy," he continued. "I
feel that perhaps I ought to be guided by her judgment now, yet I find
it difficult to accept for many reasons. In short, she thinks that I
should marry."

During the last few moments Huntington had anticipated this
announcement, but he refrained from making comment. Hamlen looked over
at him for a word of encouragement, but as none came he went on.

"I know myself to be entirely unfitted, and it is the last thing in the
world I should have thought of; but lately I have mistrusted my own
judgment, which leaves me absolutely without a guide of any kind. So
when any one I respect as I do Mrs. Thatcher makes such a statement,
and even suggests the possibility of my marrying her own daughter, I
don't know what to do. I can't believe that the girl would consider me