"Don't try," he urged, deeply touched. "I won't say I don't think I have helped Rose a little. I knew I could. I always have been able to handle children. I wish I knew as much about grown folks. But this treatment? She must go to a hospital for it, of course?"
She looked up swiftly, half laughing, half distressed.
"My aunt—aren't you forgetting her? She says she 'never did approve of hospitals.'"
"But that is absurd. She must consent. I will speak to her."
"No! Oh no! You don't quite understand yet. I think we might in time bring my aunt to consent to the hospital; but the—the free-ward. No, that she will not hear of. And as a private case—"
"I see," said Courtney, shortly. "If Rose were a child of the tenements she would go to the free-ward and be cured. As she is— Pray let me speak to her mother."
"No, no! You see, this becomes a—a question of money; and that is another thing my aunt does not approve of—'questions of money.' I have seen you pay her for the breakfasts she sends in here to you. You lay the money on her table while both of you look the other way. What nonsense all that is! But it has been, oh, very good of you to humor her. It has made everything easier. You would offend her deeply now if you should speak to her of a free-ward for a child of hers."
"But what then can we do?"
In her reply he noted that she ignored the plural.
"I don't know yet. But in time I shall find a way. Rose must have this, if I starve the rest of us—a little."
She spoke lightly, but Courtney knew this was no jest, and he knew also that, however proud her independence, there was no chance for a further paring down of the expenses of her household—none whatever. He rose from his chair, walking restlessly across the small room, which his tall figure, his broad shoulders, seemed always to dwarf when he stood.
"See here!" he said, suddenly. He sat down on the side of his table, leaning toward her urgently. "This is all absurd. If Rose can be cured, that exquisite, patient little thing, why, then—Now look here, Miss Ireland. It's not always easy for me to speak, either." He leant yet nearer. "You know what I feel toward the child; I don't need to tell you. Would your aunt allow you to settle for Rose's cure?"
Her face, which had grown flushed and troubled under his gaze, was, with his question, so amazed that he laughed outright.
"It would be a matter of several hundred dollars, I suppose. Well, of course I didn't imagine you had that where you could lay your hand on it at once; but I have, and— Now, just wait a moment. Hear me out—"
"No, no, no, Mr. Courtney! No!"
"Why not? I tell you I have it. It's lying now at the bank. What interest could it draw that would pay me like seeing Rose free—as other children are, only a thousand times sweeter than any other child could be? You know I love her—as if she were my own little sister. I don't believe you care more for the child than I do. This ought to be left just a plain question between Rose and me—no one else. She and I can settle all that. You are out of it—except as I have to consult you. Your aunt has unbounded confidence in your ability to do anything. Don't you see how easy it would be to manage, and nobody know but you and me? I have offended you? Miss Ireland— What have I done?"
Miss Ireland had turned away, her face hid in her hands. It was no surprise to Courtney when, a moment later, she lifted her head and looked up at him. He knew her power of quick self-mastery. But there was something in the smile on her lips, in her eyes, and in her face which he failed to read, a look that still perplexed him while he obeyed it as he interpreted it.
"Don't trouble to answer me. I see too well what you mean to say. I am right and you wrong—but I yield. I will say no more about it—not now."
"But I must! I can't—I can't let you offer this and not—"
"No! If you can refuse to let me do anything, I refuse to let you say anything. Play fair!"
She sat with her gray eyes lifted un-
