"Yes, you could--and, likely, lose the sale; they won't disclose. However, that's your business," Macloud observed; "though, it's a pity to tilt at windmills, for a foolish notion." Croyden creased and uncreased the letter--thinking. Macloud resumed the smoke rings--and waited. It had proved easier than he had anticipated. Croyden had not once thought of Elaine Cavendish--and his simple word had been sufficient to clear himself.... At length, Croyden put the letter back in its envelope and looked up. "I'll sell the bonds," he said--"forward them at once with draft attached, if you will witness my signature to the transfer. But it's a queer proceeding, a queer proceeding: paying good money for bad!" "That's his business--not yours," said Macloud, easily. Croyden went to the escritoire and took the bonds from one of the drawers. "You can judge, from the place I keep them, how much I thought them worth!" he laughed. When they were duly transferred and witnessed, Croyden attached a draft drawn on an ordinary sheet of paper, dated Northumberland, and payable to his account at the Tuscarora Trust Company. He placed them in an envelope, sealed it and, enclosing it in a second envelope, passed it over to Macloud. "I don't care to inform them as to my whereabouts," he remarked, "so, if you don't mind, I'll trouble you to address this to some one in New York or Philadelphia, with a request that he mail the enclosed envelope for you." Macloud, when he had done as requested, laid aside the pen and looked inquiringly at Croyden. "Which, being interpreted," he said, "might mean that you don't intend to return to Northumberland." "The interpretation does not go quite so far; it means, simply, that I have not decided." "Don't you want to come back?" Macloud asked. "It's a question of resolution, not of inclination," Croyden answered. "I don't know whether I've sufficient resolution to go, and sufficient resolution to stay, if I do go. It may be easier not to go, at all--to live here, and wander, elsewhere, when the spirit moves." And Macloud understood. "I've been thinking over the proposition you recently advanced of the folly of a relatively poor man marrying a rich girl," he said, "and you're all wrong. It's a question of the respective pair, not a theory that can be generalized over. I admit, the man should not be a pauper, but, if he have enough money to support _himself_, and the girl love him and he loves the girl, the fact that she has gobs more money, won't send them on the rocks. It's up to the pair, I repeat." "Meaning, that it would be up to Elaine Cavendish and me?" answered Croyden. "If you please, yes!" said Macloud. "I wish I could be so sure," Croyden reflected. "Sure of the girl, as well as sure of myself." "What are you doubtful about--yourself?" Croyden laughed, a trifle self-consciously. "I fancy I could manage myself," he said. "Elaine?" "Yes, Elaine!" "Try her!--she's worth the try."