ful? Money's the least important thing
there is."

"It is important," said she broodingly. "It seems to me all my miseries,
my disgraces have come from that."

"You don't want to tell me about them? You don't think it would make
them better?"

"You said you didn't care. You said what we had lived through--what I
had--these twenty-five years, made no difference!"

"Not to me. But when it comes to you, why, maybe I could help you."

She thought a while and then answered definitely and coldly,--

"No, I can't do it. I should have to tell--too many things."

"Then we won't think of it," said the voice. "Only you must remember,
there's money and there's--Peter to take you off and hide you somewhere.
You can trust Peter." Again he seemed ready to break their
companionship, and she wondered miserably.

"You seem to think of nothing but my going away."

"I must think of it. Nothing is more likely."

"You don't seem to care!"

"Playmate!" Again the voice reproached her.

"Well!"

"There's but one thing I think of--really. To give you a little bit of
happiness while you are here. After that--well, you can make the picture
for yourself. I shall come to the playhouse every night--alone."

The one thing perhaps that had been the strongest in guiding her
romantic youth had been eternal faithfulness. Her heart beat at the word
"forever." Now her gratitude outran his calm.

"Will you do it?" she cried.

"Shall I promise?"

"No! no! I would not have you do it really--only want to do it. Do you
think you will remember--to want to come?"

He said the words after her, so slowly that they seemed to come from
lips set with some stern emotion.

"I shall remember. I shall want to come."

She rose.

"Good-night," she said. "Shake hands?"

"No," said the voice, "not that. In playhouses you can't shake hands.
Good-night--dear lady."

She turned away, and then, because she was silent the voice called after
her,--

"Playmate!"

"Yes."

"I shall follow you to the wall and watch you home. You're not afraid?"

"No, I'm not afraid."

"And you're almost happy?"

At the anxiety in his voice, she was unreasonably happy.

"Yes," she called back. "Good-night."

"Got the key safe?"

"All safe. Good-night."

"God bless you, playmate." That was what she thought she heard.

XII

Madam Fulton was at the library table, considering her morning mail, and
Billy Stark sat on the veranda just outside the window