"It is the only thing to do," was the decided answer. "You see, here in this small place we haven't the facilities, the surgical skill, the equipment for such a critical operation, and the truth is we all of us here balk at it. A doctor like Elliot can afford to take the risk, you see. If he should fail, you know there would be no criticism, while if one of us here were to do so we'd be thought--well, almost criminally wrong." Mary's face was brooded over now by a shadow. She shuddered; her eyes held a tortured look. "So you think he ought to go at once?" she said. "The sooner the better, Miss Mary," was the prompt answer. She gave him her hand, and he wondered over the change in her mood as he lifted his hat. "I'll let you know very soon, Doctor," were her parting words. "Please don't mention it, for the present, anyway. I think I know where I can get the money that is needed." Mary walked on, now toward the square. Her step was slow, her eyes were on the ground. "Oh God! how can I? And yet I must!" she groaned. "He means to make me take the money; that is plain. He understands what it would mean, and so do I; but, oh, I don't want to marry him. I'd rather die--I would, I would, I would. And yet if I died--if I died--" She had to pass through the square to get her horse, and she dreaded the possible encounter again with Albert Frazier. She felt relieved, on entering the square, to notice that he was not in sight. The plate-glass window of the bank, with its gilt-lettered sign, caught her eye. Why not try there to borrow the money, as a last resort? Perhaps the banker would consider lending her the money on her own name. She had heard of loans being made to women who had no security. Yes, she would try. It would be a last effort, but she must make it. Entering the little building, she went to the opening in the wire netting and asked the cashier if Mr. Lingle were in. She was answered in the affirmative and directed to a half-closed door bearing the words, "The President's Office." She opened the door without knocking, and saw the back and shaggy head of a man of sixty, without his coat, his collar and necktie loose, his sleeves rolled up, busy writing. Hearing her, he turned, suppressed a frown of impatience, stood up and bowed. His face was round, beardless, and reddish in tint. "Oh, Miss Mary, how are you?" he asked, awkwardly extending a fat, perspiring hand. "Want to see me, eh, personally? Well, I'm at your service, though these are busy days for us. What can I do for you?" Her voice seemed to have deserted her. She was conscious of the fear that no words at all would come from her, and yet immediately she heard herself speaking in a calm, steady tone. She was smiling, too, as if she knew that what she was saying had a touch of absurdity in it.