w it had bred in her habits of thinking and
reading--and how valuable these habits would be to her in her
work. There was Rod, for example. He hated being alone,
must have someone around even when he was writing; and he had
no taste for order or system. She understood why it was so
hard for him to stick at anything, to put anything through to
the finish. With her fondness for being alone, with her
passion for reading and thinking about what she read, surely
she ought soon to begin to accomplish something--if there was
any ability in her.

She found Rod in higher spirits. Several ideas for his play
had come to him; he already saw it acted, successful, drawing
crowded houses, bringing him in anywhere from five hundred to
a thousand a week. She was not troubled hunting for things to
talk about with him--she, who could think of but one thing and
that a secret from him. He talked his play, a steady stream
with not a seeing glance at her or a question about her. She
watched the little clock at the side of the bed. At the end
of an hour to the minute, she interrupted him in the middle of
a sentence. "I must go now," said she, rising.

"Sit down," he cried. "You can stay all day. The doctor says
it will do me good to have you to talk with. And Sperry isn't
coming until tomorrow."

"I can't do it," said she. "I must go."

He misunderstood her avoiding glance. "Now, Susie--sit down
there," commanded he. "We've got plenty of money. You--you
needn't bother about it any more."

"We're not settled yet," said she. "Until we are, I'd not dare
take the risk." She was subtly adroit by chance, not by design.

"Risk!" exclaimed he angrily. "There's no risk. I've as good
as got the advance money. Sit down."

She hesitated. "Don't be angry," pleaded she in a voice that
faltered. "But I must go."

Into his eyes came the gleam of distrust and jealousy. "Look
at me," he ordered.

With some difficulty she forced her eyes to meet his.

"Have you got a lover?"

"No."

"Then where do you get the money we're living on?" He counted
on her being too humiliated to answer in words. Instead of
the hanging head and burning cheeks he saw clear, steady eyes,
heard a calm, gentle and dignified voice say:

"In the streets."

His eyes dropped and a look of abject shame made his face
pitiable. "Good Heavens," he muttered.

"How low we are!"

"We've been doing the best we could," said she simply.

"Isn't the