ompletely at odds
with life as any one I ever saw. He has a great deal of talent, and no
health or money; so he's toiling feebly for a living on a daily
newspaper, instead of making literature. He was a reporter up to the
time he wrote that article, but the managing editor is a man who
recognizes quality; he's fond of Maxwell--that's the fellow's name--and
since then he's given him a chance in the office, at social topics. But
he hasn't done very well; the fact is, the boy's too literary, and he's
out of health, and he needs rest and the comfort of appreciative
friendship. I want you to meet him. I've got him up at my place out of
the east winds. You'll be interested in him as a type--the artistic type
cynicised by the hard conditions of life--newspaper conditions, and then
economic conditions."

Matt smiled with satisfaction in what he felt to be his very successful
formulation of Maxwell.

Wade said he should be very glad to meet him; and if he could be of any
use to him he should be even more glad. But his mind was still upon
Matt's love affair, and as they wrung each other's hands, once more he
said, "I think you've decided _so_ wisely, Matt; and justly and
unselfishly."

"It's involuntary unselfishness, if it's unselfishness at all," said
Matt. He did not go; Wade stood bareheaded with him at the outer door of
his study. After awhile he said with embarrassment, "Wade! Do you think
it would seem unfeeling--or out of taste, at all--if I went to see her
at such a time?"

"Why, I can't imagine _your_ doing anything out of taste, Matt."

"Don't be so smooth, Caryl! You know what I mean. Louise sent some
messages by me to her. Will you take them, or--"

"I certainly see no reason why you shouldn't deliver Miss Hilary's
messages yourself."

"Well, I do," said Matt. "But you needn't be afraid."

XI.

Matt took the lower road that wound away from Wade's church toward the
Northwick place; but as he went, he kept thinking that he must not
really try to see Suzette. It would be monstrous, at such a time; out of
all propriety, of all decency; it would be taking advantage of her
helplessness to intrude upon her the offer of help and of kindness which
every instinct of her nature must revolt from. There was only one thing
that could justify his coming, and that was impossible. Unless he came
to tell her that he loved her, and to ask her to let him take her burden
upon him, to share her shame and her sorrow for