"It would be confessing that they were right, and we will _never_ do that. But I don't blame your father, and I want him to know it." Louise stopped short and kissed Suzette. In her affectionate optimism it seemed to her for the moment that all the trouble was over now. She had never realized anything hopelessly wrong in the affair; it was like a misunderstanding that could be explained away, if the different people would listen to reason. Sue released herself, and said, looking away from her friend: "It has been hard. He is dead; but we haven't even been allowed to see him laid in the grave." "Oh, perhaps," Louise sobbed out, "he _isn't_ dead! So many people think he isn't--" Suzette drew away from her in stern offence. "Do you think that if he were alive he would leave us without a word--a sign?" "No, no! He couldn't be so cruel! I didn't mean that! He is dead, and I shall always say it." They walked on without speaking, but at the gate Suzette offered to return Louise's embrace. The tears stood in her eyes, as she said, "I would like to send my love to your mother--if she would care for it." "Care for it!" "And tell your brother I can never forget what he did for us." "He can never forget that you let him do it," said Louise, with eager gratitude. "He would have liked to come with me, if he hadn't thought it might seem intrusive." "_Intrusive!_ Your _brother_!" Sue spoke the words as if Matt were of some superior order of beings. The intensity of feeling she put into her voice brought another gush of tears into Louise's eyes. "Matt _is_ good. And I will tell him what you say. He will like to hear it." They looked down the road, but they could not see Simpson coming yet. "Don't wait, Sue," she pleaded. "Do go back! You will be all worn out." "No, I will stay till your carriage comes," said Suzette; and they remained a moment silent together. Then Louise said, "Matt has got a new fad: a young man that writes on the newspapers--" "The newspapers!" Suzette repeated with an intimation of abhorrence. "Oh, but he isn't like the others," Louise hastened to explain. "Very handsome, and interesting, and pale, and sick. He is going to be a poet, but he's had to be a reporter. He's awfully clever; but Matt says he's awfully poor, and he has had such a hard time. Now they think he won't have to interview people any more--he came to interview papa, the first time; and poor papa was very blunt with him; and then so sorry. He's got some other kind of newspaper place; I don't know what. Matt liked what he wrote about--about, your--troubles, Sue." "Where was it?" asked Sue. "They were all wickedly false and cruel." "His wasn't cruel. It was in the _Abstract_." "Yes, I remember. But he said papa had taken the money," Sue answered unrelentingly. "Did he? I thought he only said _if_ he did. I don't believe he said more. Matt wouldn't have liked it so much if he had. He's in such bad health. But he's awfully clever."