She entered a dark room on a courtway, evidently used as a place of waiting; there was another room beyond, reached by a door that stood half-open. Her father was engaged; his voice rose from the inner room; and she took a chair by the outer door of the waiting-room. She looked about the place curiously. On a long table lay in great disorder many odds and ends--packages of garden-seed under dust that afforded almost enough earth to sprout them; half a dozen fence pickets tied together with a string; and several strata of old newspapers. On the floor in a corner lay a set of harness in a disreputable state of disrepair; and pasted on the walls were yellowed sheets of newspapers containing tables of some sort. Zelda did not know what these were, though any one of the loafers on the curbstone could have enlightened her as to their character,--they were the official advertisements of the sales of tax titles. Ezra Dameron always “talked poor,” and complained of the burden of taxes and street improvements; but he had been the chief buyer of tax titles in the county. “I’m sure that I’ve been very lenient, very lenient indeed,” Ezra Dameron was saying. “I have, in fact, considered it a family matter, calling for considerate treatment, on the score of my friendship with your husband. If it had been otherwise, I should have been obliged long ago to take steps--steps toward safeguarding the interests--the interests of my trust, I should say. “But another extension of two years would be sufficient for me to pay. I wish very much for Olive not to know that her schooling was paid for with borrowed money. She gives me all she earns. Her position is assured, and I am putting aside something every month to apply on the debt. We owe nothing else.” “But two of these notes are already in default, Mrs. Merriam. I have incurred obligations on the strength of them. A woman can’t understand the requirements and exactions of business.” “I am sorry, very sorry, Mr. Dameron. All I ask is this extension. It can’t be a large matter to you!” “I regret more than I can tell you that it is impossible. If it were myself,--if it were my own money that I advanced you, I could perhaps be less insistent, but as it is, this money belongs to another,--in fact, it is part of my daughter’s estate. She is perfectly helpless, utterly ignorant of business; it is necessary for me to exercise the greatest care in administering her affairs. It is a sacred trust, Mrs. Merriam, a sacred trust from her dear mother.” “I came to-day,” said the woman’s voice, apologetically, “hoping that payment could be deferred.” “Yes, to be sure; it’s wise to be forehanded. But the loan must be paid at the maturity of the last note, in May. I must close my wife’s estate very soon. I have timed all my loans to that end.”