rs. I have to say
only, 'Grizel loves me,' and I am there."

"Without me!"

"I took you with me."

"What did we see? What did we do?"

"You spoiled everything by thinking the stars were badly managed. You
wanted to take the supreme control. They turned you out."

"And when we got back to earth?"

"Then I happened to catch sight of myself in a looking-glass, and I
was scared. I did not see how you could possibly love me. A terror
came over me that in the Den you must have mistaken me for someone
else. It was a darkish night, you know." "You are wanting me to say
you are handsome."

"No, no; I am wanting you to say I am very, very handsome. Tell me you
love me, Grizel, because I am beautiful."

"Perhaps," she replied, "I love you because your book is beautiful."

"Then good-bye for ever," he said sternly.

"Would not that please you?"

"It would break my heart."

"But I thought all authors--"

"It is the commonest mistake in the world. We are simple creatures,
Grizel, and yearn to be loved for our face alone."

"But I do love the book," she said, when they became more serious,
"because it is part of you."

"Rather that," he told her, "than that you should love me because I am
part of it. But it is only a little part of me, Grizel; only the best
part. It is Tommy on tiptoes. The other part, the part that does not
deserve your love, is what needs it most."

"I am so glad!" she said eagerly. "I want to think you need me."

"How I need you!"

"Yes, I think you do--I am sure you do; and it makes me so happy."

"Ah," he said, "now I know why Grizel loves me." And perhaps he did
know now. She loved to think that she was more to him than the new
book, but was not always sure of it; and sometimes this saddened her,
and again she decided that it was right and fitting. She would hasten
to him to say that this saddened her. She would go just as impulsively
to say that she thought it right.

Her discoveries about herself were many.

"What is it to-day?" he would say, smiling fondly at her. "I see it is
something dreadful by your face."

"It is something that struck me suddenly when I was thinking of you,
and I don't know whether to be glad or sorry."

"Then be glad, you child."

"It is this: I used to think a good deal of myself; the people here
thought me haughty; they said I had a proud walk."

"You have it still," he assured her; the vitality in her as she moved
was ever a delicious thing to him