to get her face fully in view, and
asked, "How much do you think I've been able to average up to this
time?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid I don't know at all about such things. But I
should _like_ to."

Maxwell let himself drop back into the hammock. "I think I won't
humiliate myself by giving the figures. I'd better leave it to your
imagination. You'll be sure to make it enough."

"Why should you be ashamed of it, if it's ever so little?" she asked.
"But _I_ know. It's your pride. It's like Sue Northwick wanting to give
up all her property because her father wrote that letter, and said he
had used the company's money. And Matt says it isn't his property at
all, and the company has no right to it. If she gives it up, she and her
sister will have nothing to live on. And they _won't_ let themselves be
helped--any more than--than--_you_ will!"

"No. We began with that; people who need help can't let you help them.
Don't they know where their father is?"

"No. But of course they must, now, before long."

Maxwell said, after the silence that followed upon this. "I should like
to have a peep into that man's soul."

"Horrors! Why should you?" asked Louise.

"It would be such splendid material. If he is fond of his children--"

"He and Sue dote upon each other. I don't see how she can endure him; he
always made me feel creepy."

"Then he must have written that letter to conciliate public feeling, and
to make his children easier about him and his future. And now if you
could see him when he realizes that he's only brought more shame on
them, and forced them to beggar themselves--it would be a tremendous
situation."

"But I shouldn't _like_ to see him at such a time. It seems to me,
that's worse than interviewing, Mr. Maxwell."

There was a sort of recoil from him in her tone, which perhaps he felt.
It seemed to interest, rather than offend him. "You don't get the
artistic point of view."

"I don't want to get it, if that's it. And if your play is going to be
about any such thing as that--"

"It isn't," said Maxwell. "I failed on that. I shall try a comic
motive."

"Oh!" said Louise, in the concessive tone people use, when they do not
know but they have wronged some one. She spiritually came back to him,
but materially she rose to go away and leave him. She stooped for the
letter he had dropped out of the hammock and gave it him. "Don't you
want this?"

"Oh, thank you! I'd forgotten it." He glanced at the sup