"Yes," he answered, "I have written such letters once or twice in my
life."

Pauline stooped to straighten out the hearth rug. "Father," she said
abruptly; "I have been writing to Uncle Paul." She drew a sharp breath
of relief.

"You have been writing to your Uncle Paul! About what, Pauline?"

And Pauline told him. When she had finished, Mr. Shaw sat for some
moments without speaking, his eyes on the fire.

"It didn't seem very--wrong, at the time," Pauline ventured. "I had to
do something for Hilary."

"Why did you not consult your mother, or myself, before taking such a
step, Pauline?"

"I was afraid--if I did--that you would--forbid it; and I was so
anxious to do something. It's nearly a month now since Dr. Brice said
Hilary must have a change. We used to have such good times
together--Hilary and I--but we never have fun anymore--she doesn't care
about anything; and to-day it seemed as if I couldn't bear it any
longer, so I wrote. I--I am sorry, if you're displeased with me,
father, and yet, if Uncle Paul writes back favorably, I'm afraid I
can't help being glad I wrote."

Mr. Shaw rose, lighting the low reading-lamp, standing on the study
table. "You are frank enough after the event, at least, Pauline. To