Von Gerhard came over, and took my hands gently from my
face. "I--I do beg your pardon," he said. He looked
strangely boyish and uncomfortable as he said it. "I was
thinking only of your good. We do that, sometimes,
forgetting that circumstances may make our wishes
impossible of execution. So. You will forgive me?"

"Forgive you? Yes,indeed," I assured him. And we shook
hands, gravely. "But that doesn't help matters much,
after all, does it?"

"Yes, it helps. For now we understand one another,
is it not so? You say you can only write for a living.
Then why not write here at home? Surely these years of
newspaper work have given you a great knowledge of human
nature. Then too, there is your gift of humor. Surely
that is a combination which should make your work
acceptable to the magazines. Never in my life have I
seen so many magazines as here in the United States. But
hundreds! Thousands!"

"Me!" I exploded--"A real writer lady! No more
interviews with actresses! No more slushy Sunday
specials! No more teary tales! Oh, my!
When may I begin? To-morrow? You know I brought my
typewriter with me. I've almost forgotten where the
letters are on the keyboard."

"Wait, wait; not so fast! In a month or two,
perhaps. But first must come other things outdoor