“It’s all right, Charlie,” said Margaret, smiling from her cushions. “I shouldn’t have broken out so. My nerves are on edge, I suppose. Perhaps I shall come back from Italy after a while quite ready to take hold. And one can write even in Italy.” “That reminds me.” Charles turned again to me. “I’ve been hoping to see you soon about one thing. We agreed the other day that you ought to be asked about it before we made any move. The public naturally expects an authorized biography of mother. The demand for it has already begun. Don’t you think Henry Bradford is the person to do it? Helen thinks he would be willing to.” “He would do it well, undoubtedly,” I answered, rather startled by the abruptness of the question. I was really unprepared to give a judicial opinion about the matter. “Henry would like to do it,” said Margaret, “and he would give a very just estimate of her public life. Helen could look after the English; she always does. Only I won’t have Henry or anybody else rummaging through all mother’s private papers.” “Of course we should--I mean, you ought to look them over first,” returned Charles, uneasily. “Henry has no discretion whatever,” commented Margaret. “Besides, mother never liked him particularly, as both of you know perfectly well. She liked you, Robert, a great deal better. Helen would be furious if I said it to her, but it’s true.” “Yes, yes, Henry tried her sometimes,” Charles murmured; “but he knows about everything in which she was interested.” “Why shouldn’t _you_ do it?” I asked him. “Oh, it ought to be some one further removed from her,” he answered--“some one who could speak quite freely. I couldn’t do it.” “There’s one other possible plan,” I remarked. “Haven’t you thought of it? Why shouldn’t the three of you collaborate in a life? It seems to me that might be the most suitable arrangement. All of you write; you have all been associated with your mother in her work. Why shouldn’t you?” “That plan hasn’t occurred to us,” returned Charles, hesitatingly. “It might be appropriate: ‘The Life of Mrs. Longbow, by Her Children.’ What do you think, Margaret? Would Helen think well of it?” “Helen might,” replied Margaret. “I don’t quite know. I’d rather be left out of it myself.” “Oh, I couldn’t work with Helen alone,” said Charles. “She would overrule me at every turn.” “There you are!” Margaret put in. “It would be a beautiful idea, no doubt; but we should find it hard to agree.” “Yet we ought to consider the plan before we ask any one else to do the book,” said Charles, looking at me as though for confirmation. He had been walking about while we talked, and now stood facing us from behind the library table. “You certainly ought,” I agreed, rising to go. A few days later I paid a visit to the Bradfords. Helen was alone. She received me graciously and spoke of her mother with much feeling and pride. Very soon, however, she turned the conversation to her sister.