The young man gave her a quick, earnest glance.
“Go on,” he said, briefly.
“It’s only this,” said Patty, still hesitating, “my father has lots of money—couldn’t you—couldn’t he lend you some?”
Sinclair looked at her squarely now, and spoke in low, stern tones.
“Never suggest such a thing again. The Cromartys do not borrow.”
“Not even from a friend?” said Patty, softly.
“Not even from a friend,” repeated Sinclair, but his voice was more gentle. “You don’t understand, I suppose,” he went on, “but we would leave Cromarty for ever before we would stay on such terms.”
“No,” said Patty, “I don’t understand. I should think you’d be as glad to accept a friend’s help as he would be to offer it.”
“If you’d do me a real kindness, Patty, you’ll never even mention such an idea again. I know you mean well and I thank you, but it’s absolutely impossible.”
“Then there’s only one other way out of the difficulty,” said Patty, with an effort at lightness; “and that’s to find your buried fortune.”