"Oh, damn the prize! Excuse me; I'm sorry for my blunder. There are times when a man sees a big ditch in front of him and doesn't know how he's going to get across. I'm that man—and I spoke without thinking."

Her eyes, still on his, grew moist with tears. "It's so dreadful—your being in such trouble. I had no idea… ." She glanced about her, almost furtively, as if the efficient staff who dealt with her "cases" might be listening behind a screen. "I do want to help you if I can," she went on, hardly above a whisper. "If you'll give me time I … I think I could arrange … but of course it would have to be quite privately… ."

He softened at the sight of her distress. "You're very kind. But I guess we won't talk of it anymore. I've been tired and worried and I started thinking out loud."

"But it's so wrong, so cruel, that you, with your genius, should have such worries. I don't understand." She drew her brows together in anxious conjecture. "I thought there was such a demand for what you write, and that you had a permanent job in the New Hour."

"Yes, I have. But they're just starting and can't pay much. And I'm pledged to give them whatever I write. But I'd have pulled through all right if other things hadn't gone wrong. And I will anyhow." He held his hand out. "You've helped me a lot, just letting me look at those pictures. Thank you for it. Good-bye."

The decision of his manner seemed to communicate itself to her, and she stood up also, pale and almost beautiful under the stress of an unknown emotion. "No, no, not goodbye, I do want to help you—I want you to tell me what it is that's wrong… . I know young men are sometimes foolish." She laid on his arm a bejewelled hand of which one ring would have bought his freedom.

Vance gave an impatient laugh. "Foolish? Is that what you people call not having enough money to keep alive on? What's wrong with me is that my wife's been desperately sick … sick for weeks. That costs."

There was a silence. Mrs. Pulsifer's hand slipped away. She drew back a step and slowly repeated: "Your wife? You mean to say you're married?" Vance made a gesture of assent.

"But I don't understand. You never told me… ."

"Didn't I? Maybe I didn't."

She continued to look at him uncertainly. "How could I know? I never thought … you never spoke… . But perhaps," she faltered, a curious light of expectancy in her tired eyes, "it's because your marriage is—unhappy?"

Vance coloured hotly. "God, no! I'm only unhappy because I can't do all I want for her." He thought afterward that he had never loved Laura Lou as he did at that moment.