l, and what _are_ you going to do, ill fact?" she asked.

"I'm hanged if I know, Mad; and there's the truth."

He turned and regarded her with wide eyes, seriously perceptive of a
blank horizon.

"I've asked him to let me have half the money, but he refuses even
that. His object is, of course, to compel me into the life of a
Philistine. I believe the fellow thinks it's kindness; I know my mother
does. She, of course, has as little faith in me as you have."

Madeline did not resent this. She regarded the floor for a minute, and,
without raising her eyes, said:

"Come here, Clifford."

He approached. Still without raising her eyes, she again spoke.

"Do you believe in yourself?"

The words were impressive. Marsh gave a start, uttered an impatient
sound, and half turned away.

"Do you believe in yourself, Clifford?"

"Of course I do!" came from him blusterously.

"Very well. In that case, struggle on. If you care for the kind of help
you once said I could give you. I will try to give it still. Paint
something that will sell, and go on with the other work at the same
time."

"Something that will sell!" he exclaimed, with disgust. "I can't, so
there's an end of it."

"And an end of your artist life, it seems to me. Unless you have any
other plan?"

"I wondered whether you could suggest any."

Madeline shook her head slowly. They both brooded in a cheerless way.
When the girl again spoke, it was in an undertone, as if not quite sure
that she wished to be heard.

"I had rather you were an artist than anything else, Clifford."

Marsh decided not to hear. He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets,
and trod about the floor heavily. Madeline made another remark.

"I suppose the kind of work that is proposed for you would leave you no
time for art?"

"Pooh! of course not. Who was ever Philistine and artist at the same
time?"

"Well, it's a bad job. I wish I could help you. I wish I had money.

"If you had, _I_ shouldn't benefit by it," was the exasperated reply.

"Will you please to do what you were going to do at first, and tell
Barbara I wish to speak to her?"

"Yes, I will."

His temper grew worse. In his weakness he really had thought it likely
that Madeline would suggest something hopeful. Men of his stamp
constantly entertain unreasonable expectations, and are angry when the
unreason is forced upon their consciousness.

"One word before you go, please," said Madeline, standing up and
speaki