ading to the house.

"You listening?"

She nodded jerkily.

"It seemed all right then. And it seemed all right after that.
Stuyvesant was agreeable enough, and so I came on to New York. Then
followed Dad's death. Dad was a queer sort, but he was square as a
die. I'm sorry he went before he had a chance to meet you. I didn't
realize what good pals we were until afterward. But, anyway, he died,
and he tied the property all up as I've told you. Maybe he thought if
he didn't I'd blow it in, because I see now I'd been getting rid of a
good many dollars. I went to Frances and told her all about it, and
offered to cancel the engagement. But she was a good sport and said
she'd wait until I earned ten thousand a year. You listening?"

She nodded.

"Because it's right here you come in. I was going to get it inside a
year, and you know just about how much chance I stood. But it looked
easy to her, because her father was pulling down about that much a
month, and not killing himself either. I didn't know any more about it
than she did; but the difference between us was that as soon as I was
on the inside I learned a lot she didn't learn. I learned how hard it
is to get ten thousand a year; more than that, I learned how
unnecessary it is to get it. That's what you taught me."

"I--I didn't mean to," she interrupted.

"You're talking," he reminded her.

She closed her lips firmly together.

"Whether you meant to or not isn't the point. You did teach me that
and a lot of other things. I didn't know it at the time, and went
plugging ahead, thinking everything was just the same when it wasn't
at all. Frances was headed one way and I was headed another. Then she
went abroad, and after that I learned faster than ever. I learned what
a home can be made to mean, and work can be made to mean, and life can
be made to mean. All those things you were teaching me. I didn't know
it, and you didn't know it, and Frances didn't know it. That ten
thousand grew less and less important to me, and all the while I
thought it must be growing less and less important to her. I thought
that way after the walks in the park and the walks in the country and
that night at Coney."

She shuddered.

"I thought it even after she came back--even after my talk with
Stuyvesant. He told me I was a fool and that Frances wouldn't listen
to me. I didn't believe him and put it up to her. And then--for the
first time--I saw that what I had been learning she had