u in earnest?" she cried.

"Absolutely," he assured her. "It is Mr. Bomford's scheme. He says
that it would mean great wealth for all of us. Your father, too,
praises it. He, too, seemed to come--for the moment, at any rate--under
the curse. He, too, is greedy for money."

"And you?" she whispered. "What did you say?

"What did I say?" he repeated wonderingly. "But of course you know!
Imagine the horror of it--a health-food for the mind! Huge sums of
money rolling in from the pockets of credulous people, money stinking
with the curse of vulgarity and quackery! It is almost like a false
note, dear, to speak of it out here, but I must tell you because they
are angry with me. I am afraid that your father will send me away, and
I am afraid that our little dream is over and that I shall not wander
with you any more evenings here in the cool darkness, when the heat of
the day is past and the fragrance of the cedar tree and your roses fills
the air, and you, your sweet self, Edith, are here."

She was looking at him very fixedly. Her lips were a little parted, her
eyes were moist, her bosom was rising and falling as though she were
shaken by some wonderful emotion.

"Dear!" she murmured.

It seemed to him that she leaned a little towards him. His heart ached
with longing. Very slowly, almost reverently, his hands touched her
shoulders, drew her towards him.

"You and I," he whispered, "at least we live in the same world. Nothing
will ever be able to take the joy of that thought from my heart."

She remained quite passive. In her eyes there was a far-away look.

"Dear," she said softly in his ear, "you are such a dreamer, aren't
you--such a dear unpractical person? Have you never used your wonderful
imagination to ask yourself what money may really mean? You can buy a
world of beautiful things, you can buy the souls of men and women, you
can buy the law."

He felt a cold pain in his heart. Looking at her through the twilight
he could almost fancy that there was a gleam in her face of something
which he had seen shining out of her father's eyes. His arms fell away
from her. The passion which had thrilled him but a moment ago seemed
crushed by that great resurgent impulse which he was powerless to
control.

"You think that I should do this?" he cried, hoarsely.

"Why not?" she answered. "Money is only vulgar if you spend it
vulgarly. It might mean so much to you and to me."

"Tell me how?" he faltered.

"Mr. Bom