“I thank you for that kind consideration. Ah! I have so much to thank you for, Miss Wynthrop!”
“You make me wish there was no such word as ‘thankful.’ I told you this morning that we only pleased ourselves in trying to make Mrs. Harcourt happy.”
“You are angels!”
“Fiddle-de-dee!”
Now, if there be anything that takes a poor fellow down it is “fiddle-de-dee!” Harcourt collapsed. Margaret Wynthrop laughed, and said:
“This is a rude farm office, where accounts are audited, and not a place for sentiment, Mr. Harcourt. I brought you here for the settlement of business.”
“I am at your orders, Miss Wynthrop.”
“First of all, I would ask you if I am liberty to write to Mr. Amos Merritt and end his suspense and anxiety on your account?”
“Most certainly. I have not been in hiding, though I may not now explain the cause of my disappearance. Write, and set the worthy counselor at ease; also set at ease the party behind him, and for whom he acts, for my acquaintance with Mr. Merritt would scarcely account for his personal interest in my affairs.”
“I suspected that there was some friend in the background,” Margaret Wynthrop candidly confessed. “But I cannot conjecture who it may be. Can you?”