And--" he waved his gloves airily and continued, "What is it the immortal Burns says: 'A man's a man, for a' that and a' that!' And I'm a man, John Barclay, and she's a woman.

And I go twice a week.

You know women, sir, you know women--they're mostly all alike.

So I think--" he smirked complacently as he concluded--"I think what I need is time--only time." "Luck to you," said Barclay.

"I'll just make the note thirty days, as you say, and we can renew it from time to time." Then Brownwell put on his hat, twirled his cane effusively, and bade Barclay an elaborate adieu.
And ten days later, Molly Culpepper, loathing herself in her soul, and praying for the day of deliverance when it should be all over, walked slowly from the post-office up the hill to the house, the stately house, with its impressive pillars, reading this: "My darling Girl: John has sent me some more mortgages to sell, and they have to be sold now.