smiled. "Oh! Oh, yes, I--I'm afraid it would--er--cost a good deal of
money," she nodded over her shoulder as she went on into Keith's room.

That evening Susan sought her employer in the studio. Daniel Burton
spent all his waking hours in the studio now. The woods and fields
were nothing but a barren desert of loneliness to Daniel Burton--
without Keith.

The very poise of Susan's head spelt aggressive determination as she
entered the studio; and Daniel Burton shifted uneasily in his chair as
he faced her. Nor did he fail to note that she carried some folded
papers in her hand.

"Yes, yes, Susan, I know. Those bills are due, and past due," he cried
nervously, before Susan could speak. "And I hoped to have the money,
both for them and for your wages, long before this. But---"

Susan stopped him short with an imperative gesture.

"T ain't bills, Mr. Burton, an't ain't wages. It's--it's somethin'
else. Somethin' very importune." There was a subdued excitement in
Susan's face and manner that was puzzling, yet most promising.

Unconsciously Daniel Burton sat a little straighter and lifted his
chin--though his eyes were smiling.

"Something else?"

"Yes. It's--poetry."