He alternated between ghastly worry that made him talk about suicide, and the wildest hopefulness. It was Frances who bore the brunt of the misery. She fretted continually, couldn’t sleep at night. She thought and schemed and planned for means of sustaining this beloved creature, above all trying to secure him proper food three times a day without his suspecting that some of its cost came from her own pocket. Luckily he almost always forgot how much he had given her to keep for him, and how much he had spent out of it. He didn’t imagine the suffering he caused her. On the contrary, he believed that his fits of extravagant gaiety, in reality quite beyond his control, were contrived especially to cheer up Frances. He was sometimes ready to admit to himself that Frankie’s disposition was not quite what he had once thought it. She was absolutely cross. Time after time she refused to go out with him, even to the “movies”; she said they couldn’t afford it. “But you don’t realise,” he protested, “how much I need a bit of recreation.” “I realise how much you’re going to need a bit of money,” she replied grimly. “You can’t be childish. You’ll have to do without _everything_ but necessities for a while.” VI Inspiration came from a wholly unexpected source. Frankie was sitting in her room in the dark one evening, after a walk with Lionel, exhausted from her effort to encourage him in a mood of black despair. She had drawn her chair up to the window and sat looking out over the roof of the next house at the cloudy sky. There was the usual noise from the court, the shrill children who never went to bed, the phonographs, a woman singing in a piercing, artificial voice. She was used to it now, scarcely heard it, but it filled her ears, and she was unaware of Miss Eppendorfer’s entrance until she touched her on the shoulder. “I knocked and knocked!” said she. “I wanted to ask you to make me a cup of coffee; I’m so nervous.” Frankie said ‘Of course’ but her voice was weary, and Miss Eppendorfer noticed it. “What’s the trouble, my dear?” she asked, kindly. “Let’s sit here and talk a while.” She sat down on the bed where she could reach out and lay a friendly hand on Frankie’s arm. “I’ve noticed--it’s not curiosity.... It’s only that I’m very fond of you--you can’t imagine _how_ fond of you, my dear.... I don’t expect you to return it. I know I’m not lovable. And probably you despise me for--lots of things. But, my dear! My dear! I do wish you so well! I’d do anything! If you’d like to tell me, perhaps I could help.... I’ve had experience enough. I could understand.” Frances was silent. She couldn’t bring herself to confide in Miss Eppendorfer. “I think I know,” the other went on. “It’s money, isn’t it? You want to marry, but you’re afraid.” “Not afraid,” said Frances, nettled. “It’s only that I don’t want to be stupid--rash---- I don’t think it’s right to marry on nothing. I’d rather wait ten years.”