Oh, the joy of that night! How can I describe it? To be at last in the company of one who understood, who--as he himself had said in "Her Soul"--spoke my own language! Except for the occasional mosquito, there was no sound save the tumescent sea and his voice. Often since that time I have sat and listened to conversation. How flat it sounds to listen to father conversing about Gold, or Sis about Clothes, or even to the young men who come to call, and always talk about themselves. We were at last interrupted in a strange manner. Mr. Patten came down their walk and crossed to us, walking very fast. He stopped right in front of us and said: "Look here, Reg, this is about all I can stand." "Oh, go away, and sing, or do something," said Mr. Beecher sharply. "You gave me your word of honor" said the Patten man. "I can only remind you of that. Also of the expense I'm incurring, and all the rest of it. I've shown all sorts of patience, but this is the limit." He turned on his heel, but came back for a last word or two. "Now see here," he said, "we have everything fixed the way you said you wanted it. And I'll give you ten minutes. That's all." He stalked away, and Mr. Beecher looked at me. "Ten minutes of heaven," he said, "and then perdition with that bunch. Look here," he said, "I--I'm awfully interested in what you are telling me. Let's cut off up the beach and talk." Oh night of nights! Oh moon of moons! Our talk was strictly business. He asked me my plot, and although I had been warned not to do so, even to David Belasco, I gave it to him fully. And even now, when all is over, I am not sorry. Let him use it if he will. I can think of plenty of plots. The real tragedy is that we met father. He had been ordered to give up smoking, and I considered he had done so, mother feeling that I should be encouraged in leaving off cigarettes. So when I saw the cigar I was sure it was not father. It proved to be, however, and although he passed with nothing worse than a glare, I knew I was in more trouble. At last we reached the bench again, and I said good night. Our relations continued business-like to the last. He said: "Good night, little authoress, and let's have some more talks." "I'm afraid I've bored you," I said. "Bored me!" he said. "I haven't spent such an evening for years!" The family acted perfectly absurd about it. Seeing that they were going to make a fuss, I refused to say with whom I had been walking. You'd have thought I had committed a crime. "It has come to this, Barbara," mother said, pacing the floor. "You cannot be trusted out of our sight. Where do you meet all these men? If this is how things are now, what will it be when given your liberty?"