She stood for a moment looking at him fixedly, a smile of pride and tender dream on her lips, then said, "You must not say such things to me--not now." The bell rang. "Here comes your new-found admirers," she exclaimed, gleefully. "Now, you sit here, a little in the shadow, and I will bring them in." Douglass heard Hugh ask, eagerly, "Is he here?" "Yes, he is waiting for you." A moment later she re-entered, followed closely by Westervelt. "Herr Westervelt, let me introduce Mr. George Douglass, author of _Alessandra_, _Lillian's Duty_, and _Enid's Choice_." For an instant Westervelt's face was a confused, lumpy mass of amazement and resentment; then he capitulated, quick to know on which side his bread was buttered, and, flinging out a fat hand, he roared: "Very good joke. Ha! ha! You have fooled me completely. Mr. Douglass, I congratulate you. You have now given Helen Merival the best part she has ever had. You found we were right, eh?" Douglass remained a little stiff. "Yes, for the present we'll say you are right; but the time is coming--" Hugh came forward with less of enthusiasm, but his wall of reserve was melting. "I'm mighty glad to know that you wrote _Alessandra_, Douglass. It is worthy of Sardou, and it will win back every dollar we've lost in the other plays." "That's what I wrote it for," said Douglass, sombrely. Westervelt had no further scruples--no reservations. "Well, now, as to terms and date of production. Let's get to business." Helen interposed. "No more of that for to-day. Mr. Douglass is tired and needs recreation. Leave business till to-morrow. Come, let us go to mother; she is anxious to see you--and you are to breakfast with us in the good old spirit." It was sweet to sit with them again on the old footing--to be released from his load of guilty responsibility. To face the shining table, the dear old mother--and Helen! Something indefinably domestic and tender came from her hesitating speech and shone in her liquid, beaming eyes. The room swam in vivid sunshine, and seemed thus to typify the toiler's escape from poverty and defeat. "Don't expect me to talk," he said, slowly, strangely. "I'm too dazed, too happy to think clearly. I can't believe it. I have lived two months in a horrible nightmare; but now that the business men, the practical ones, say you are to be saved by me, I must believe it. I would be perfectly happy if only I had won the success on my own lines without compromise." "Put that aside," she commanded, softly. "The fuller success will come. We have that to work towards." XIX Helen insisted that her playwright should go back to the West for a month's rest. "I do not need rest, I need you," he answered, recklessly. "It fills me with content merely to see you." "Nevertheless, you must go. We don't need you here. And, besides, you interfere with my plans." "Is that true?" His eyes searched deep as he questioned.