She couldn't remember.
"Just what I thought. It must need expert attention. Modern conditions call for modern methods, even in bookkeeping. I think I'll get a good firm of accountants to go over our present system, and make such changes as will keep you in closer touch with everything that is going on."
Mary hardly knew what to think.
"You're sure it has nothing to do with this?" she asked, indicating the fragments in the waste-basket.
"Not the least connection! Besides," he argued, "you and I know very well—don't we?—that with all his faults, Burdon would never do anything like that—"
"Of course he wouldn't!"
"Very well. I think we ought to forget that part of it, and never refer to it again—or it might be said that we were fearing for him."
This masculine logic took Mary's breath away, but though she thought it over many a time that day, she couldn't find the flaw in it.
"Men are queer," she finally concluded. "But then I suppose they think women are queer, too. To me," she thought, "it almost seems insulting to Burdon to call accountants in now; but according to the judge it would be insulting to Burdon not to call them in—"
She was still puzzling over it when Archey, that stormy petrel of bad news, came in and very soon took her mind from anonymous letters.