burden her generosity further."

The thought of making his peace with Hugh, of meeting Westervelt's hard
stare, aided this resolution, and, sitting at his desk, he wrote a long
and passionate letter, wherein he delineated with unsparing hand his
miserable failure. He took a pride and a sort of morbid pleasure in
punishing himself, in denying himself any further joy in her company.

"It is better for you and better for me that we do not meet
again--at least till I have won the tolerance of your brother and
manager and my own self-respect. The work I have done is honest
work; I will not admit that it is wholly bad, but I cannot meet
Hugh again till I can demand consideration. It was not so much the
words he used as the tone. I was helpless in resenting it. That I
am a beggar, a dangerous influence, I admit. I am appalled at the
thought of what I have done to injure you. Cast me overboard. Not
even your beauty, your great fame, can make my work vital to the
public. I am too perverse, too individual. There is good in me, but
it is evil to you. I no longer care what they say of me, but I feel
every word derogatory of you as if it were a red-hot point of
steel. I did not sleep last night; I spent the time in
reconstructing myself. I confessed my grievous sins, and I long to
do penance. This play is also a failure. I grew cold with hate of
myself last night as I thought of the irreparable injury I had done
to you. I here relinquish all claim to both pieces; they are yours
to do with as you like. Take them, rewrite them, play them, or burn
them, as you will.

"You see, I am very, very humble. I have put my foolish pride
underfoot. I am not broken. I am still very proud and, I fear,
self-conceited, in spite of my severe lesson. _Enid_ is beautiful,
and I know it, and it helps me write this letter, but I have no
right to ask even friendship from you. My proved failure as a
playwright robs me of every chance of meeting you on equal terms. I
want to repay you, I _must_ repay you, for what you have done. If I
could write now, it would be not to please myself, but to please
you, to help you regain your dominion. I want to see you the
radiant one again, speaking to throngs of happy people. If I could
by any sacrifice of myself call back the homage of the critics and
place you whe