“Yes, he has called several times.” “And you like him?” “Very much. He is coming to-night, I believe. We are very good friends.” With an impulsiveness that was not habitual with her, Gertrude bent and kissed her friend on the lips. “Be careful, Harriet. Be careful,” she whispered, and then turned and left the room. CHAPTER XV. “You look tired, Mr. Stoughton. You have been working too hard.” Thus said Mrs. Percy-Bartlett to Richard, as her brown eyes rested questioningly on his pale countenance. When a woman frankly comments on a man’s appearance to his face it is evident that her friendship for him is on a very firm basis. “Perhaps so,” returned Richard, smiling gratefully. “I sometimes get very tired of pouring water through a sieve; of rolling a stone to the top of a hill every day to find it at the bottom the next morning.” She bent toward him, and looked up into his face earnestly. “But it must be a glorious privilege, Mr. Stoughton, to feel that what you write is read by thousands and tens of thousands of people; that you are an important part of that great force in modern life, the daily press.” “In one sense,” he returned thoughtfully, “it is a satisfaction to know that you are addressing a large audience--an audience that is powerless to hiss you off the stage if it is not pleased with your words. But at its best my editorial work is both ephemeral and anonymous.” She smiled at him sympathizingly. “I know what is in your mind,” she exclaimed. “You desire the recognition and applause of the public. But that is sure to come to you in time. You have great talents, Mr. Stoughton; and--pardon me for saying so--you are young, and can afford to wait.” They were silent for a time, proof positive that their friendship had made great progress. It is not so much what people say to each other as what they conceal from each other, that marks the status of their intercourse. A long silence between a man and woman seated alone together is very eloquent; and its significance is in direct ratio to their mental alertness. There is no dynamic repression in the silence of a stick and a stone; but when the gods on Olympus cease to speak, the earth trembles with apprehension. “Do you know,” remarked Richard at length, “that I have lost something of the ambition that inspired me some months ago? Perhaps I have grown weary of work, or this great city has had a depressing effect upon my aspirations. Whatever may be the reason, however, I find that I no longer build the castles in the air that I raised with so much enthusiasm not long ago. Why is it, do you think?” He glanced at her searchingly; and, as their eyes met, her cheeks lost something of their color. “Ambition may sleep, but it never dies, Mr. Stoughton. You are suffering from the reaction of your sudden and remarkable success.” “My success!” he exclaimed. “Yes; I have won one great and gratifying success since I came to New York; and only one.”