“And for any others where he can place his material.” This apparently did not convey any very luminous idea to Mr. Gage’s mind, and he asked after a moment, “What kind of things does he write?” “Oh, stories, sketches, poems, reviews, essays—almost anything, in fact.” The light left his face, and I perceived that I had carried my revenge too far, at least for Kendricks’s advantage, and I determined to take a new departure at the first chance. The chance did not come immediately. “And can a man support a wife by that kind of writing?” asked Mr. Gage. I laughed uneasily. “Some people do. It depends upon how much of it he can sell. It depends upon how handsomely a wife wishes to be supported. The result isn’t usually beyond the dreams of avarice,” I said, with a desperate levity. “Excuse me,” returned the little man. “Do you live in that way? By your writings?” “No,” I said with some state, which I tried to subdue; “I am the editor of _Every Other Week_, and part owner. Mr. Kendricks is merely a contributor.” “Ah,” he breathed again. “And if he were successful in selling his writings, how much would he probably make in a year?” “In a year?” I repeated, to gain time. “Mr. Kendricks is comparatively a beginner. Say fifteen hundred—two thousand—twenty-five hundred.” “And that would not go very far in New York.” “No; that would not go far in New York.” I was beginning to find a certain pleasure in dealing so frankly with this hard little man. I liked to see him suffer, and I could see that he did suffer; he suffered as a father must who learns that from a pecuniary point of view his daughter is imprudently in love. Why should we always regard such a sufferer as a comic figure? He is, if we think of it rightly, a most serious, even tragical figure, and at all events a most respectable figure. He loves her, and his heart is torn between the wish to indulge her and the wish to do what will be finally best for her. Why should our sympathies, in such a case, be all for the foolish young lovers? They ought in great measure to be for the father, too. Something like a sense of this smote me, and I was ashamed in my pleasure. “Then I should say, Mr. March, that this seems a most undesirable engagement for my daughter. What should you say? I ask you to make the case your own.” “Excuse me,” I answered; “I would much rather not make the case my own, Mr. Gage, and I must decline to have you consult me. I think that in this matter I have done all that I was called upon to do. I have told you what I know of Mr. Kendricks’s circumstances and connections. As to his character, I can truly say that he is one of the best men I ever knew. I believe in his absolute purity of heart, and he is the most unselfish, the most generous—”