ll quivered with
a boyish excitement, "but I couldn't resist coming to tell you that
Benson has at last held out his hand. I'm to be put on in the autumn."

Adams laid down the manuscript upon which he was engaged, and turned
with the winning smile which Trent had grown to look for and to love.

"Well, that is jolly news," he said heartily, "you know without my
saying so that there is no one in New York who is more interested in
your success than I am. We'll make a fine first night of it."

"That's why I dropped in to tell you," responded Trent, while his
youthful enthusiasm made Adams feel suddenly as old as failure. "I came
about a week ago, by the way, but that shock-headed chap at the door
told me you were out of town."

Adams nodded as he picked up the manuscript again.

"I took Mrs. Adams south," he replied. "Her health had given way."

"So I heard, but I hope she's well again by now?"

"Oh, she's very much better, but one never knows, of course, how long
one can manage to keep one's health in this climate. I hate to make you
hurry off," he added, as the other rose from his chair.

"I want to carry my good news to Miss Wilde," rejoined Treat. "Do you
know, she was asking about you only the other day."

"Is that so? I've hardly had time for a word with her for three weeks.
Mrs. Adams has not been well and I've kept very closely at home ever
since I got back. Will you tell her this from me? It's a nuisance, isn't
it, that life is so short one never has time, somehow, for one's real
pleasures? Now, Laura Wilde is one of my real pleasures," he pursued,
with his quiet humour, "so when there's a sacrifice to be made, its
always the pleasure instead of the business that goes overboard. Oh,
it's a tremendous pity, of course, but then so many things are that, you
know, and its confoundedly difficult, after all, to edit a magazine and
still keep human."

The winning smile shone out again, and Treat noticed how it transfigured
the worn, sallow face under the thin brown hair.

"Well, you may comfort yourself with the reflection that it's easy to be
human but hard to edit a magazine," laughed the younger man, adding, as
he went toward the door and paused near the threshold, "I haven't seen
you, by the way, since Miss Wilde's last poems are out. Don't you agree
with me that her 'Prelude' is the biggest thing she's done as yet?"

"The biggest--yes, but there's no end to my belief in her, you know,"
said Adams. "She'