and looked at it in the moonlight.

"All this reminds me," he said, "that I have promised to go to work
tonight. But this is so--er--thrilling that I guess the work can wait.
Well--now go on."

Oh, the Joy of that night! How can I describe it? To be at last in
the company of one who understood, who--as he himself had said in "Her
Soul"--spoke my own languidge! Except for the occasional mosquitoe,
there was no sound save the turgescent sea and his Voice.

Often since that time I have sat and listened to conversation. How flat
it sounds to listen to father prozing about Gold, or Sis about Clothes,
or even to the young men who come to call, and always talk about
themselves.

We were at last interupted in a strange manner. Mr. Patten came down
their walk and crossed to us, walking very fast. He stopped right in
front of us and said:

"Look here, Reg, this is about all I can stand."

"Oh, go away, and sing, or do somthing," said Mr. Beecher sharply.

"You gave me your word of Honor" said the Patten man. "I can only remind
you of that. Also of the expence I'm incuring, and all the rest of it.
I've shown all sorts of patience, but this is the limit."

He turned on his Heal, but came back for a last word or two.

"Now see here," he said, "we have everything fixed the way you said You
wanted it. And I'll give you ten minutes. That's all."

He stocked away, and Mr. Beecher looked at me.

"Ten minutes of Heaven," he said, "and then perdetion with that bunch.
Look here," he said, "I--I'm awfully interested in what you are telling
me. Let's cut off up the beech and talk."

Oh night of Nights! Oh moon of Moons!

Our talk was strictly business. He asked me my Plot, and although I had
been warned not to do so, even to David Belasco, I gave it to him fully.
And even now, when all is over, I am not sorry. Let him use it if he
will. I can think of plenty of Plots.

The real tradgedy is that we met father. He had been ordered to give up
smoking, and I considered had done so, mother feeling that I should be
encouraged in leaving off cigarettes. So when I saw the cigar I was sure
it was not father. It proved to be, however, and although he passed with
nothing worse than a Glare, I knew I was in more trouble.

At last we reached the Bench again, and I said good night. Our relations
continued business-like to the last. He said:

"Good night, little authoress, and let's have some more talks."

"I'm afraid I've board you," I