Caroline, rising calmly, put on her cloak and hat and let herself out of the room. She said she would soon be back.... Netherby leaned forward, chin in hand, and gazed at Julia. “Julia,” he said, in a low whisper, “look how these people face poverty and neglect--just because they have each other to work for. Why cannot we, you and I, start life together--now--to-morrow?” “But, Netherby----” He took her slender fingers in his hand: “My dear girl,” said he--“I am now known a little. The money will be coming in soon. What more would you wait for?... Must I bring you the moon?” “But supposing I drag you down, Netherby----” “My dear Julia--you talk as if you were sixteen stone, and I swimming in a duck-pond. We can never be in want from now--not more than we are.” “How can you be sure, Netherby?” His stern face smiled: “I can amuse the world. And the world cheerfully flings its pence to its jesters. On the blackest night the court fool may warm his hands at the hearth of the world. And I once heard the greatest ass in London confess that it takes a clever fellow to be reckoned a remarkable fool in these days, Julia.” “This disaster to Caroline and Mr. Anthony has frightened me,” she sighed. “It has strengthened me,” he said--“given me courage. Here are gently nurtured people, used to the luxuries of life, whose womenfolk wear the bonnet of fashion without a strut, for they have never known any other; here they are, living all hugger-mugger in a “spacious upper floor” where even I, from the ranks, would be everlastingly seeing only the faults--yet never so much as a whimper from them. They are as cheery as though they had come into the family estates. Until the boy went sick, Baddlesmere was never more amusing----” She sighed: “Ah, yes--they laugh to keep the tears away,” she said. “But, my Julia, you would not have them live their life in one long-drawn-out fear lest the world be full of fears!” “But--how do you know your next book will be a success, Netherby?” “I don’t know, dear. I once knew a man who was so afraid of getting a chill that he wore goloshes after sunset--he died of heat-apoplexy.” The boy Noll yawned: “I say, Netherby,” he grumbled from the bed peevishly: “come here, you and Julia, and sit on the bed--I can’t hear a word you say--it’s so beastly dull seeing you billing and cooing there and missing all the letterpress.” Netherby chuckled hugely; and they both got up, he chuckling, and she blushing, and came to the boy’s bedside. Noll was looking very sickly: “Oh, Noll,” said Julia in alarm--“I’m sure you ought not to be smoking. You are looking so pale.” Noll coughed: