"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 as a husband, yet Marian is confident that if it could be arranged it would be for the happiness of all concerned." "Are you fond of Merry?" Huntington demanded. "As Marian's daughter, yes. I admire her tremendously, for in some ways she reminds me of her mother. But what in the world have I to offer her?" "What has any man to offer the woman he marries," Huntington replied with feeling, "in comparison to what she brings into his life? He stakes nothing but his liberty; she stakes her future as well as her present." "I know; but what do you advise me to do?" "Has it occurred to you that Mrs. Thatcher is assuming a great responsibility in pledging her daughter's consent?" "Yes; I am afraid her influence over the girl is as strong as it is over me. She is a very magnetic woman." "Do you mean that you question your own strength?" "That is exactly what I mean," he answered, dropping his eyes.