o that every morning he
came down with an armful of letters and piteous appeals to me to help
him to reply to them.

I knew it would be dangerous to put myself in the way of so much
temptation, but the end of it was that day after day we sat together in
my sitting-room, answering the inquiries of the sceptical, the
congratulations of the convinced, and the offers of assistance that came
from people who wished to join in the expedition.

What a joy it was! It was like the dawn of a new life to me. But the
highest happiness of all was to protect Martin against himself, to save
him from his over-generous impulses--in a word, to mother him.

Many of the letters he received were mere mendicancy. He was not rich,
yet he could not resist a pitiful appeal, especially if it came from a
woman, and it was as much as I could do to restrain him from ruining
himself.

Sometimes I would see him smuggle a letter into his side pocket, with--

"H'm! That will do later."

"What is it?" I would ask.

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" he would answer.

"Hand it out, sir," I would say, and then I would find a fierce delight
in sending six freezing words of refusal to some impudent woman who was
trying to play upon the tender side of my big-hearted boy.

Oh, it was delightful! My whole being seemed to be renewed. If only the
dear sweet hours could go on and on for ever!

Sometimes my husband and Alma would look in upon us at our work, and
then, while the colour mounted to my eyes, Martin would say:

"I'm fishing with another man's floats, you see."

"I see," my husband would reply, fixing his monocle and showing his
front teeth in a painful grin.

"Just what dear Mary loves, though," Alma would say. "I do believe she
would rather he sitting in this sunless room, writing letters for Mr.
Conrad, than wearing her coronet at a King's coronation."

"Just so, ma'am; there _are_ women like that," Martin would answer,
looking hard at her; and when she had gone, (laughing lightly but with
the frightened look I had seen before) he would say, as if speaking to
himself:

"I hate that woman. She's like a snake. I feel as if I want to put my
foot on it."

At length the climax came. One day Martin rushed downstairs almost
beside himself in his boyish joy, to say that all the money he needed
had been subscribed, and that in honour of the maturing of the scheme
the proprietor of the newspaper was to give a public luncheon at one of
the hotels, and