“Just that,” Mr. Richards returned, nervously; “but if it was not for the horror I have of debt, and the thought that others must suffer through me, I would gladly lay down my arms and give up the battle; I am tired to death of this endless struggle to keep up appearances. But,” he added, trying to speak more cheerfully, “I won’t bore you with my troubles. How well you are both looking; and Star—they tell me _you_ are the author of ‘Chatsworth’s Pride.’ I declare I was never prouder of anything in my life when I heard it. I always knew you’d make your mark in the world.” Star colored. She was a trifle sensitive regarding compliments of this kind, and never talked about her book if she could help it, except with those whom she was sure were her true friends. But she thanked him gracefully, and then turned the conversation to some other topic, while all the time she was wondering if there was not something that she could do to help or comfort him in his trouble. “Now that I have found you,” he said, later, “tell me where you live and I will come to see you. I will not invite you to Brooklyn,” he continued, with a frown, “for I know you could not come there with any comfort, though I should be glad enough to see you there.” While he was speaking, Star had drawn a little back, so that Mr. Rosevelt was between her and Mr. Richards, and he could not see her face at all. “Uncle Jacob,” she whispered, close to his ear, “cannot we do something to help him out of his trouble? He looks so wild and desperate that he frightens me. He was always kind to me, and I’ll willingly give up California or anything else you please.” Jacob Rosevelt’s face flushed hotly at these words, and a strange gleam came into his fine eyes. He appeared to take no notice of her plea, but after giving Mr. Richards their street and number, continued: “If you have no other engagement, George, come up and dine with us to-night, and see how cozy we are. We have dinner at six, and as we leave for California on Wednesday night, I am afraid we shall not see you again.” George Richards caught his breath with a sudden gasp at this intelligence, and Star noticed again that frenzied gleam in his eyes which had made her heart throb painfully. “California, do you?” he said, trying to speak steadily. “Well, I will come, of course, then; for life is uncertain, you know, and I may never see you again,” he added, with a harsh, grating laugh. “Thank you for the invitation, and as I have no engagement, I will be on hand in season for dinner. But I must be off now, for I have agreed to meet a couple of gentlemen at twelve, and it only wants fifteen minutes of that now.” He lifted his hat and bowed to them, then turned away; but the white-haired gentleman and the beautiful girl who stood looking after him saw the aged, dejected look return almost instantly to his face, and heard the heavy sigh that escaped his lips, telling of some fearful burden of care that was wearing his life away.