of self-sacrifice. "But Mr.
Maxwell's play is just such a play as I would have written if I
could--large, and serious, and charming."

He went on about it finely, and Louise's heart swelled with pride. She
wished Maxwell could have been there, but if he had been, of course Mr.
Ray would not have spoken so freely.

The hostess asked him where he had seen it, and he said in Midland.

Then she said, "We must all go," and she had the effect of rising to do
so, but it was only to leave the men to their tobacco.

Louise laid hold of her in the drawing-room: "Who is he? What is he?"

"A little dear, isn't he?"

"Yes, of course. But what has he done?"

"Why, he wrote a novel--I forget the name, but I have it somewhere. It
made a great sensation. But surely _you_ must know what it was?"

"No, no," Louise lamented. "I am ashamed to say I don't."

When the men joined the ladies, she lingered long enough to thank Mr.
Ray, and try to make him tell her the name of his novel. She at least
made him promise to let them know the next time he was in New York, and
she believed all he said of his regret that he was going home that
night. He sent many sweet messages to Maxwell, whom he wanted to talk
with about his play, and tell him all he had thought about it. He felt
sure that some manager would take it and bring it out in New York, and
again he exulted that it was out of the actor's hands. A manager might
not have an artistic interest in it; an actor could only have a personal
interest in it.

XIX.

Louise came home in high spirits. The world seemed to have begun to move
again. It was full of all sorts of gay hopes, or at least she was, and
she was impatient to impart them to Maxwell. Now she decided that her
great office in his life must be to cheer him up, to supply that spring
of joyousness which was so lacking in him, and which he never could do
any sort of work without. She meant to make him go into society with
her. It would do him good, and he would shine. He could talk as well as
Mr. Ray, and if he would let himself go, he could be as charming.

She rushed in to speak with him, and was vexed to find a strange man
sitting in the parlor alone. The stranger rose at her onset, and then,
when she confusedly retreated, he sank into his chair again. She had
seen him black against the window, and had not made out any feature or
expression of his face.

The maid explained that it was a gentleman who had called to se