“And just when the blamed sucker had fallen into the mint, so to speak!” the manager complained to a subordinate. “So it’s up to Miss Melody White, is it? Well, that lady’s no sucker. I’ll have to show her good cause!” * * * * * The next day, as Brainard was superintending the dismantling of his rooms, word was brought to him that Miss White had called and wished to speak to him. “Sure it isn’t Mr. Farson that Miss White wishes to see?” he asked the servant, thinking of the new play which Farson had begun for the actress. “Sure it isn’t!” a laughing voice answered from the hall, and Melody pushed her head through the doorway. “You’re pulling out?” she asked in surprise, remarking the disheveled condition of the pleasant library. “Where to?” “Don’t know yet—just stripping for action,” Brainard replied buoyantly. “You gather a lot of moss about you whenever you plant yourself.” He pointed to the books and pictures ranged along the walls, ready for the packing-cases. “And one sinks into the moss, too, so that it becomes hard to tear up,” he said less cheerfully. Melody sat down on a lounge, crossed her knees, and slowly pulled off her long gloves, as if she had come to stay. “My!” Brainard remarked, looking attentively at her clothes, “how dressy the lady is getting to be!” “Marks of my position,” Melody replied, with elaborate indifference. “It makes Cissie’s eyes water when the things come home. It’s almost as good fun as telling her that I will try to save her a small part in the new play, or something in one of the road companies.” “Haven’t you paid Cissie in full for all her airs? Or do you still get amusement out of teasing the poor thing?” “One has to do something, you know,” Melody sighed. “The _ennui_ of success has come so soon!” Brainard mocked. “You’ll be taking to ’citis and lap dogs. But I have a document that may distract your starship’s idle moments meanwhile, and give you something to think about.” He stepped into the inner room and returned with a typed manuscript. “Another play?” Melody inquired in a languid tone. “Have you taken to writing plays, too?” “Not exactly,” Brainard replied, running over the sheets. “Leaventritt came to see me yesterday,” Melody remarked carelessly. “I sent him.” “So he said.” “You want to be careful. There’s a mercenary streak in his blood, and success is likely to bring it out; but he’s intelligent and honest enough.” “You’re still set on making an idiot of yourself about the money and things?” “If you mean that I am still determined to render unto Melody the riches that are Melody’s by rights, why, yes!” “Then what are you going to do?”