the old footing--to be released
from his load of guilty responsibility. To face the shining table, the
dear old mother--and Helen! Something indefinably domestic and tender
came from her hesitating speech and shone in her liquid, beaming eyes.

The room swam in vivid sunshine, and seemed thus to typify the toiler's
escape from poverty and defeat.

"Don't expect me to talk," he said, slowly, strangely. "I'm too dazed,
too happy to think clearly. I can't believe it. I have lived two months
in a horrible nightmare; but now that the business men, the practical
ones, say you are to be saved by me, I must believe it. I would be
perfectly happy if only I had won the success on my own lines without
compromise."

"Put that aside," she commanded, softly. "The fuller success will come.
We have that to work towards."

XIX

Helen insisted that her playwright should go back to the West for a
month's rest.

"I do not need rest, I need you," he answered, recklessly. "It fills me
with content merely to see you."

"Nevertheless, you must go. We don't need you here. And, besides, you
interfere with my plans."

"Is that true?" His eyes searched deep as he questioned.

"I am speaking as the actress to the playwright." She pointed tragically
to the door. "Go! Your poor old, lonely mother awaits you."

"There are six in the family; she's my stepmother, and we don't get on
smoothly."

"Your father is waiting to congratulate you."

"On the contrary. He thinks actresses and playwrights akin to 'popery.'"

She laughed. "Well, then, go on my account--on your account. You are
tired, and so am I--"

"That is why I should remain, to relieve you, to help you. Or, do you
mean you're tired of me?"

"I won't say that; but I must not see you. I must not see any one. If I
do this big part right, I must rest. I intend to sleep a good part of
the time. I have sent for Henry Olquest, and I intend to put the whole
of the stage end of this play in his hands. Our ideals are not concerned
in this _Alessandra_, you remember."

His face clouded. "That is true. I wish it were otherwise. But can you
get Olquest?"

"Yes; his new play has failed. 'Too good,' Westervelt said."

"Oh, what blasphemy! To think Harry Olquest's plays are rejected, and on
such grounds! You are right--as always. I will go."

"Thank you!"

"I am a little frazled, I admit, and a breath of mountain-air will do me
good. I will visit my brother Walt in Darien. It'