Two hours after the receipt of Mrs. McDermott’s second letter, Squire Culpepper was on his way to Sugden’s bank. His heart was heavy, and his step slow. He had never had to borrow a farthing from any man—at least, never since he had come into the estate—and he felt the humiliation, as he himself called it, very bitterly. There was something of bitterness, too, in having to confess to his friend Cope how all his brilliant castles in the air had vanished utterly, leaving not a wrack behind. He could see, in imagination, the sneer that would creep over Cope’s face as the latter asked him why he could not obtain a mortgage on his fine new mansion at Pincote; the mansion he had talked so much ab…
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