y existence has gone on long enough. Norah, and Max, and
Mr. Doctor Man, I am going away."

Norah's hands crashed down on the piano keys with a jangling discord.
She swung about to face me.

"Not New York again, Dawn! Not New York!"

"I am afraid so," I answered.

Max--bless his great, brotherly heart--rose and came over to me and put
a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't you like it here, girlie? Want to be hauled home on a shutter
again, do you? You know that as long as we have a home, you have one. We
need you here."

But I shook my head. From his chair at the other side of the room I
could feel Von Gerhard's gaze fixed upon us. He had said nothing.

"Need me! No one needs me. Don't worry; I'm not going to become maudlin
about it. But I don't belong here, and you know, it. I have my work to
do. Norah is the best sister that a woman ever had. And Max, you're
an angel brother-in-law. But how can I stay on here and keep my
self-respect?" I took Max's big hand in mine and gathered courage from
it.

"But you have been working," wailed Norah, "every morning. And I thought
the book was coming on beautifully. And I'm sure it will be a wonderful
book, Dawn dear. You are so clever."

"Oh, the book--it is too uncertain. Perhaps it will go, but perhaps it
won't. And then--what? It will be months before the book is properly
polished off. And then I may peddle it around for more months. No; I
can't afford to trifle with uncertainties. Every newspaper man or woman
writes a book. It's like having the measles. There is not a newspaper
man living who does not believe, in his heart, that if he could only
take a month or two away from the telegraph desk or the police run, he
could write the book of the year, not to speak of the great American
Play. Why, just look at me! I've only been writing seriously for a few
weeks, and already the best magazines in the country are refusing my
manuscripts daily."

"Don't joke," said Norah, coming over to me, "I can't stand it."

"Why not? Much better than weeping, isn't it? And anyway, I'm no subject
for tears any more. Dr. von Gerhard will tell you how well and strong I
am. Won't you, Herr Doktor?"

"Well," said Von Gerhard, in his careful, deliberate English, "since you
ask me, I should say that you might last about one year, in New York."

"There! What did I tell you!" cried Norah.

"What utter blither!" I scoffed, turning to glare at Von Gerhard.

"Gently," warned Max. "Such disrespec