Fred was amazed. Only yesterday, it seemed, he had well-nigh been refused the privilege of earning his bread. To-day, in an unexpected quarter, prosperity opened upon him. "I have no capital, as you well know," he said stammeringly to Mr. Garafield. Garafield smiled and nodded in a satisfied manner. "The brain-work and the ideas are sufficient capital, Mr. Lawrence. By this partnership you will be free of drudgery: some other clerk can keep books and take orders for us. You will gain time for your literary labors, and those in turn will carry weight in the business. Neither do I think you will regret taking my offer." Fred went down to Jack Darcy's that evening, and told over his plans, as in other years he had confessed his college ambitions and the laurels he was to win. And Jack's face lighted up with honest enthusiasm, while his voice took on a curious little tremble. He was so glad! for Sylvie's sake and love's sake. CHAPTER XXII. WHEN Fred Lawrence came next day into Sylvie Barry's presence, there was a certain proud humility shining in his handsome face, that was now quite worn and thin; a dignity born of honor in having achieved at least a standing-place in the world. He was not her hero, never had been indeed; and his pale face flushed at the remembrance of his once complacent claim to her regard. She was sitting in the room with his mother, but she sprang up from the low ottoman. "I am so glad! your mother has been telling me the news. Why, it is"-- She had held out her hands as she began her sentence, but as he took them she made a sudden pause. His were icy cold. "More than I could have expected in such a brief while, hardly at all. Both offers have surprised me greatly." He strove so hard to render his tone calm, that it was absolutely cold. She turned with a petulant but charming gesture, while her peachy cheek took on a riper tint. "You are not a bit enthusiastic," in that pretty, imperious, chiding tone. "I suppose you think good fortune ought to fall down upon you, be thrust on you, like greatness." "No. I am very thankful for it. I can give my mother and sister some needed indulgences that it would have pained me very much to see them go without. How is Irene?" "I don't know," said Mrs. Lawrence fretfully. "She does mope so. I shall be so glad to get away." "I have just come from the doctor's. We are to start on Thursday. Sylvie, are you all ready?" "Yes," with a positive little nod. He stepped into the next room. Irene had been worse after Mrs. Minor's visit, but was the same again now, quiet, cold, impassible. It made no difference to her whether they remained here, or went to Depford Beach. She evinced neither pain, pleasure, nor interest; but she liked best to be alone. She endured Sylvie with rather more equanimity than she did her mother, but even the fault-finding energy would have been welcome to the doctor. Nothing mattered: that was the trouble.