“Let us be candid with each other,” said the banker, blandly. “You want the loan of a very considerable sum of money. Now, however much inclined I might be to lend you the amount out of my own private coffers, you will believe me when I say that I am not in a position to do so. I have no such amount of available capital in hand at present. But if you were to come to me with a good negotiable security, I could at once put you into the proper channel for obtaining what you want. A mortgage, for instance. What could be better than that? The estate, so far as I know, is unencumbered, and the sum you need could easily be raised on it on very easy terms.” “I took an oath to my father on his deathbed that I would never raise a penny by mortgage on Pincote, and I never will.” “If that is the case,” said the banker, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, “I am afraid that I hardly see in what way I can be of service to you.” He coughed, and then he looked at his watch, an action which Mr. Culpepper did not fail to note and resent in his own mind. “I am sorry I came,” he said, bitterly. “It seems to have been only a waste of your time and mine.” “Don’t speak of it,” said the banker, with his little business laugh. “In any case, you have learned one of the first and simplest lessons of commercial ethics.” “I have, indeed,” answered the Squire, with a sigh. He rose to go. “And Miss Culpepper, is she quite well?” said Mr. Cope; rising also. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing her for some little time.” The Squire faced fiercely round. “Look you here, Horatio Cope,” he said; “you and I have been friends of many years’ standing. Fast friends, I thought, whom no reverses of fortune would have separated. Finding myself in a little strait, I come to you for assistance. To whom else should I apply? It is idle to say that you could not help me out of my difficulty, were you willing to do so.” “No, believe me——” interrupted the banker; but Mr. Culpepper went on without deigning to notice the interruption. “You have not chosen to do so, and there’s an end of the matter, so far. Our friendship must cease from this day. You will not be sorry that it is so. The insults and slights you have put upon me of late have all had that end in view, and you are doubtless grateful that they have had the desired effect.” “You judge me very hardly,” said the banker. “I judge you from your own actions, and from them alone,” said the Squire, sternly. “Another point, and I have done. Your son was engaged to my daughter, with your full sanction and consent. That engagement, too, must come to an end.” “With all my heart,” said the banker, quietly.