"It's all right," the object said, without removing his pipe. "There's the docyment on that little marble table. Suit of Mayfield and Co., £5,193 17_s_. 4_d_., debt and costs. If you pay within seven days, all right; if you don't then the auctioneer comes in. No use making a fuss about it. Pay us and we go, don't pay us and we stay. Treat us well, and we'll treat you well. It isn't the first time I've been in swell houses like this." The man was so coolly, unconsciously insolent that Mary could make no reply for a moment. It seemed incredible that she, who had always had the reverence of every man and boy in the village, could be treated like this. Nothing seemed to pierce the creature's dull hide. "But you can't stay here," she said. "That is impossible. I suppose the idea is to see that nothing is taken away. Nearly all the furniture belongs to the family; most of the things are what are called heirlooms. We could not dispose of them if we wanted to. We could make you all comfortable in one of the empty lodges." "Won't do," the man on the sofa said huskily. "Had that game tried on me lots of times. I sit up here all night, whilst my mates get a rest. We take it turn and turn about. Better keep your breath to cool your porridge. You can go to bed now without any fear of burglars. I'll see that nothing goes away from here." Mary turned away, sore and helpless and sick at heart. She, who despised tears so heartily in others, felt like bursting into hysterical weeping now. The humiliation was almost more than she could bear. She would have welcomed any calamity that was likely to overwhelm the old house and lay it in grey ashes at her feet. Fiercely, angrily, she grasped her father by the arm and led him from the room. Sir George trotted along feebly, muttering in a small voice. He was as useless as a woman in a storm at sea. He sat down in the library with his hands folded in his lap, and looked anxiously for any suggestion from Mary. "Is there nothing you can do?" she demanded impatiently. Could this feeble, white-faced creature be the same jaunty, debonnaire figure that had been so popular in the Paris salons? Mary asked herself. "Is there no way out of the difficulty?" "I--I am afraid not," Sir George stammered. "I am so dazed and confused that I can think of nothing. Most unfortunate that business about Lady Dashwood and the diamonds. Wonder what she has done with them. Very selfish of her." Mary suppressed a desire to scream. Ralph Darnley flashed into her mind suddenly, and she wondered why. Anyway she could not ask him to help her, even if he had the means to do so. She had repelled his advances more or less scornfully, and one does not borrow money from a man in conditions like that. "Lady Dashwood is powerless to help us," she said with an effort. "Unless I am greatly mistaken, she has a sorrow far deeper than ours----"