'Cicely, I asked you this afternoon if we couldn't have an “understanding.” You know! It seemed fair to me, if--if--if you, well, cared--because I had three thousand dollars, and all that.' She made a rather impatient little gesture. He saw her hands move; but pressed on:-- 'Since then everything has changed. I have no right to ask you now.' There was a long silence. As on other occasions, in moments of grave emergency, Henry had recourse to words. 'There was trouble at the office. I couldn't leave Hump to carry all the burden alone. And I was being sued for libel. My stories... So I've had to make a very quick turn'--he had heard that term used by real business men; it sounded rather well, he felt; it had come to him on the train--'I've had to make a very quick turn--use every cent, or most every cent, of the money. Of course, without any money at all--while I might have some chance as a writer--still--well, I have no right to ask such a thing of you, and I--I withdraw it. I feel that I--I can't do less than that.' Then, after another silence, Henry swayed, caught at the railing, sank miserably to the steps. 'It's all right,' he heard himself saying. 'I just thought--everything's been in such a mid rush--I didn't have my supper. I'll be all right...' 'Henry,' he heard her saying now, in what seemed to him, as he reflected on it later that night, at his room, in bed, an extraordinarily matter-of-fact voice; girls were complicated creatures--'Henry, you must be starved to death. You come right in with me.' He followed her in through the great hall, the unlighted living-room, a dark passage where she found his hand and led him along, a huge place that must have been the kitchen, and then an unmistakable pantry. 'Stand here till I find the light,' she murmured. It _was_ the pantry. She opened the ice-box, produced milk and cold meat. In a tin box was chocolate cake. 'I oughtn't to let you,' he said weakly. 'I knew you were angry to-day there----' 'But, Henry, they could _hear_ you! Thomas and William. Don't you see----' 'That wasn't all,' he broke in excitedly. 'It was my asking for an understanding.' She was bending over a drawer, rummaging for knife and fork. 'No, it wasn't that,' she said. 'I'd like to know what it was, then!' 'It was--oh, please, Henry, don't ever talk that way about money again.' 'But, Cicely, don't you see----' She straightened up now, knife in one hand, fork in the other; looked directly at him; slowly shook her head. 'What,' she asked, 'has money to do with--with you and me?' 'But, Cicely, you don't mean----' He saw the sudden sparkle in her dark eyes, the slow slight smile that parted her lips. She turned away then. 'Oh,' she remarked, rather timidly, 'you'll want these,' and gave him the knife and fork. He laid them on the table. They stood for a little time without speaking; she fingering the fastener of the cake box, he pulling at his moustache. Finally, very softly, she said this:--