"Done? To the very end? Get it," he commanded. "No; not yet. I only finished it, last night, and I want time to look it over, myself, before I show it to you. I may not let you see it, after all." "Oh, come now, that's not square! Didn't I help you, I'd like to know?" Theodora cocked her head on one side, and meditated aloud. "He furnished hair and eyes for one hero, and a nose for the other. There are seven of his speeches, not very bright ones, and he gave me points for one love scene. I wonder if he's earned the right to see it." "'Course I have. Go and get it, and bring it over here." "Wait," she begged. "Truly, I'm not ready yet. I'm afraid you'll laugh." "Do I ever laugh at you,--in earnest, that is?" he demanded. "No," she confessed honestly; "you never do." "Then you ought to trust me with this." "You couldn't read it." "Read it to me, then." "Well, maybe." Late that same day, in the long May twilight, they were coming up town together, Theodora pushing Billy in the familiar chair which was so soon to be discarded. With Mulvaney trudging solemnly at their heels, they had been loitering along in the sunset, while Billy gave himself up to the bright companionship which he had so sorely missed during the past ten days, and Theodora tried to talk as blithely as usual, while she told herself again and again that her opportunities for such walks were growing few. "Lessons to-morrow," Billy said at length. "I've got to grind in earnest now, Ted, if I'm to be ready for Yale, next year. Old Brownie has promised to put me through, though." "I wish I were going, too." "To Yale? But you'll do better; you'll write books and get famous, while I'm racketing around New Haven. By the way, you're going to bring it over, to-night." "It?" Theodora tried to look as if she failed to catch his meaning. "The great and only IT,--the novel. What's its name?" "I'm not sure. But I'll bring it, in a day or two," she answered. It was not until the following Saturday morning, however, that she appeared at the Farringtons' with a bulky parcel of papers in her hands. "I knew your mother was going to be out, this morning," she said, as she slid out of her dripping mackintosh; "so I thought I'd get it over with." "That's good. Take the big chair. Wait a minute, though." He whistled for Patrick to put more wood on the fire, and to place a glass of water within Theodora's reach. "There!" he said approvingly. "Now we're comfortable. Hold on a minute, Patrick; just boost me over to the sofa, while you're about it. I may as well take life easily." Theodora stuffed the cushions about him with the swift, sure touch he knew so well, and he nodded blithely up at her, in thanks. "Oh, but it's good you're back, Ted!" he said gratefully. "I've missed you like thunder. Now fire ahead. What are you going to call it?" Theodora blushed, and the name stuck in her throat. "I thought I should call it _In the Furnace of Affliction_," she said hesitatingly.