he _role_ of _roles_ for him.

"Now, boy, don't tell me you have breakfasted! But even if you have, you
must breakfast again. Come, sit down! Sit down! My fellow makes most
excellent coffee--good as Madame Gustav's of the rue Fabert! Remember
the rue Fabert?"

So he rattled on, placing a second chair, seeking an additional cup, and
ever Max listened, happy with an acute happiness that almost touched the
verge of tears.

But though emotion choked him he played his part gallantly. He was the
boy of old days to the very life, swaggering a little in a youthful
forgivable conceit, playing the lord of creation to an amused,
sympathetic audience.

"Ned," he cried at last, flinging his words from him with all the old
frank ease, "tell me to apologize!"

Blake looked up, and the affection, the tolerance in the look quivered
through Max's senses.

"Now, boy! Now!" he warned. "Be careful what you're saying! It's only
very ordinary friends talk about apologies. And I don't think we have
ever been very ordinary friends."

"No! No! But still--"

"Well, say your say!"

The tone was full of indulgence, but, also, it was touched with subtler
things. This unexpected invasion had pleased and flattered Blake; it
spoke an influence used on his behalf that he dared not have
claimed--dared not have expected.

Max walked to the window, looked down an instant into the brilliant,
sunlit street, came back to Blake's side, all with a swift
impulsiveness.

"Ned, I am the same friend--the same comrade?"

"Indeed, yes!"

"But you do not think I possess a soul?"

Blake, taken unawares, colored like any boy.

"Oh, come!"

"But it is true. I know, for I have been told. And you are wrong--quite
wrong."

Blake was about to laugh, but he looked at the young face, suddenly
grown grave, and his own words came back to him guiltily. 'Max's lips
were made for laughter--his eyes are too bright for tears!'

"Poor little faun!" he said, with jesting tenderness. "Have I misjudged
you?"

Max nodded seriously. "You have. She has made me realize."

"Ah! That was like her!" It was Blake's turn to walk to the window; and
the boy, watching him eagerly, was unable to place the constraint that
suddenly tinged his voice, suddenly veiled his manner.

"Ned," he was urged to say, "tell me! Has she brought us nearer
together--my sister Maxine?"

Blake hesitated; for even your Irishman, brimming to confide, is
reticent when he stands before his ho