Bab: A Sub-Deb by Mary Roberts Rinehart

another is with you on the bench. And--the Moon rises beyond it."
    I was silent with horor. So that was what he thought of me. Like all the others, he, to, did not understand. He considered me a Flirt, when my only Thoughts were serious ones, of imortality and so on.
    "You'd better come down now," he said. "I was afraid to warn you until I saw you climbing the latice. Then I knew you were still young enough to take a friendly word of Advise."
    I got down then and stood before him. He was magnifacent. Is there anything more beautiful than a tall man with a gleaming expance of dress shirt? I think not.
    But he was staring at me.
    "Look here," he said. "I'm afraid I've made a mistake after all. I thought you were a little girl."
    "That needn't worry you. Everybody does," I replied. "I'm seventeen, but I shall be a mere Child until I come out."
    "Oh!" he said.
    "One day I am a Child in the nursery," I said. "And the next I'm grown up and ready to be sold to the highest Bider."
    "I beg your pardon, I----"
    "But I am as grown up now as I will ever be," I said. "And indeed more so. I think a great deal now, because I have plenty of Time. But my sister never thinks at all. She is to busy."
    "Suppose we sit on the Bench. The moon is to high to be a menace, and besides, I am not dangerous. Now, what do you think about?"
    "About Life, mostly. But of course there is Death, which is beautiful but cold. And--one always thinks of Love, doesn't one?"
    "Does one?" he asked. I could see he was much interested. As for me, I dared not consider whom it was who sat beside me, almost touching. That way lay madness.
    "Don't you ever," he said, "reflect on just ordinary things, like Clothes and so forth?"
    I shruged my shoulders.
    "I don't get enough new clothes to worry about. Mostly I think of my Work."
    "Work?"
    "I am a writer" I said in a low, ernest tone.
    "No! How--how amazing. What do you write?"
    "I'm on a play now."
    "A Comedy?"
    "No. A Tradgedy. How can I write a Comedy when a play must always end in a catastrofe? The book says all plays end in Crisis, Denouement and Catastrofe."
    "I can't beleive it," he said. "But, to tell you a Secret, I never read any books about Plays."
    "We are not all gifted from berth, as you are," I observed, not to merely please him, but because I considered it the simple Truth.
    He pulled out his watch and looked at it in the moonlight.
    "All this reminds me," he said, "that I have promised to go to work tonight. But this is so--er--thrilling that I guess the work can wait. Well--now go on."
    Oh, the Joy of that night! How can I describe it? To be at last in the company of one who understood, who--as he himself had said in "Her Soul"--spoke my own languidge! Except for the occasional mosquitoe, there was no sound save the turgescent sea and his Voice.
    Often since that time I have sat and listened to conversation. How flat it sounds to listen to father prozing about Gold, or Sis about Clothes, or even to the young men who come to call, and always talk about themselves.
    We were at last interupted in a strange manner. Mr. Patten came down their walk and crossed to us, walking very fast. He stopped right in front of us and said:
    "Look here, Reg, this is about all I can stand."
    "Oh, go away, and sing, or do somthing," said Mr. Beecher sharply.
    "You gave me your word of Honor" said the Patten man. "I can only remind you of that. Also of the expence I'm incuring, and all the rest of it. I've shown all sorts of patience, but this is the limit."
    He turned on his Heal, but came back for a last word or two.
    "Now see here," he said, "we have everything fixed the way you said You wanted it. And I'll give you ten minutes. That's all."
    He stocked away, and Mr. Beecher looked at me.
    "Ten minutes of Heaven," he said, "and then perdetion with that bunch. Look here," he said, "I--I'm awfully interested in what you are telling me. Let's cut off up the beech and talk."
    Oh night of Nights! Oh moon of Moons!
    Our talk was