-But what's the use? I've
never written anything worth printing, and I never shall."

"You could!" she said.

"That's because you've never seen the poor little things I've tried to
do."

"You wouldn't let me, but I KNOW you could! Ah, it's a pity!"

"It isn't," said BIBBS, honestly. "I never could--but you're the kindest
lady in this world, Miss Vertrees."

She gave him a flashing glance, and it was as kind as he said she was.
"That sounds wrong," she said, impulsively. "I mean 'Miss Vertrees.'
I've thought of you by your first name ever since I met you. Wouldn't
you rather call me 'Mary'?"

Bibbs was dazzled; he drew a long, deep breath and did not speak.

"Wouldn't you?" she asked, without a trace of coquetry.

"If I CAN!" he said, in a low voice.

"Ah, that's very pretty!" she laughed. "You're such an honest person,
it's pleasant to have you gallant sometimes, by way of variety." She
became grave again immediately. "I hear myself laughing as if it were
some one else. It sounds like laughter on the eve of a great calamity."
She got up restlessly, crossed the room and leaned against the wall,
facing him. "You've GOT to go back to that place?"

He nodded.

"And the other time you did it--"

"Just over it," said Bibbs. "Two years. But I don't mind the prospect of
a repetition so much as--"

"So much as what?" she prompted, as he stopped.

Bibbs looked up at her shyly. "I want to say it, but--but I come to a
dead balk when I try. I--"

"Go on. Say it, whatever it is," she bade him. "You wouldn't know how to
say anything I shouldn't like."

"I doubt if you'd either like or dislike what I want to say," he
returned, moving uncomfortably in his chair and looking at his feet--he
seemed to feel awkward, thoroughly. "You see, all my life--until I met
you--if I ever felt like saying anything, I wrote it instead. Saying
things is a new trick for me, and this--well, it's just this: I used to
feel as if I hadn't ever had any sort of a life at all. I'd never been
of use to anything or anybody, and I'd never had anything, myself,
except a kind of haphazard thinking. But now it's different--I'm still
of no use to anybody, and I don't see any prospect of being useful,
but I have had something for myself. I've had a beautiful and happy
experience, and it makes my life seem to be--I mean I'm glad I've lived
it! That's all; it's your letting me be near you sometimes, as you have,
this strange, beautiful, happy little w