He came to know her better; to know her very well. He did not see her very often, but he thought of her a great deal. He seemed to find in her a sympathy which he needed. It reminded him of the past. He awoke from his lethargy; began to work once more in the old way; mixed among men again; grew brighter. “Henry Floyd is growing younger, instead of older,” someone said of him. “His health has been bad,” said a doctor. “He is improving. I thought at one time he was going to die.” “He is getting rich,” said a broker, who had been a schoolmate of his. “I see he has just invented a new something or other to relieve children with hip or ankle-joint disease.” “Yes, and it is a capital thing, too; it is being taken up by the profession. I use it. It is a curious thing that he should have hit on that when he is not a surgeon. He had studied anatomy as a sort of fad, as he does everything. One of Haile Tabb’s boys was bedridden, and he was a great friend of his, and that set him at it.” “I don’t think he’s so much of a crank as he used to be,” said someone. The broker who had been his schoolmate met Floyd next day. “I see you have been having a great stroke of luck,” he said. “Have I?” “Yes. I see in the papers, that your discovery, or invention, or whatever it was, has been taken up.” “Oh! yes--that? It has.” “I congratulate you.” “Thank you.” “I would not mind looking into that.” “Yes, it is interesting.” “I might take an interest in it.” “Yes, I should think so.” “How much do you ask for it?” “‘Ask for it?’ Ask for what?” “For an interest in it, either a part or the whole?” “What?” “You ought to make a good thing out of it--out of your patent.” “My patent! I haven’t any patent.” “What! No patent?” “No. It’s for the good of people generally.” “But you got a patent?” “No.” “Couldn’t you get a patent?” “I don’t know.” “Well, I’ll be bound I’d have got a patent.” “Oh! no, I don’t think so.” “I tell you what, you ought to turn your talents to account,” said his friend. “Yes, I know I ought.” “You could be a rich man.” “But I don’t care to be rich.” “What! Oh! nonsense. Everyone does.” “I do not. I want to live.” “But you don’t live.” “Well, maybe I shall some day.” “You merely exist.” “Why should I want to be rich?” “To live--to buy what you want.” “I want sympathy, love; can one buy that?” “Yes--even that.” “No, you cannot. There is only one sort of woman to be bought.” “Well, come and see me sometimes, won’t you?” “Well, no, I’m very much obliged to you; but I don’t think I can.” “Why? I have lots of rich men come to my house. You’d find it to your advantage if you’d come.” “Thank you.” “We could make big money together if----” He paused. Floyd was looking at him. “Could we? If--what?” “If you would let me use you.” “Thank you,” said Floyd. “Perhaps we could.” “Why won’t you come?”