The months that had passed since he first agreed to finance Martha's venture into the realm of theatricals had been months of uneasiness. Time and again he had resolved to visit her, talk with her, find out what progress she was making; yet each time he feared he might inject too personal an interest into these inquiries. That had been their agreement: "Down with love and up with ambition." He had warned her of the wayward influences of love at a time when the possibility of caring for her himself had never entered his head. "I suppose," he had said to himself a dozen times, "she'll fall in love with some actor and marry him without even bothering to let me know." This idea first awakened the possibility that he might keenly regret such an indiscretion on her part. Then came the ardent desire to see her himself, advise her, and protect her from the pitfalls of her profession. But he had dismissed this as a subterfuge invented by himself as an excuse for seeing her.
"No," he had concluded. "I will stick by my bargain. I am making an experiment in character development, and I will not let my personal sentiment affect my judgment as a business man. I agreed to aid her until she can become self-supporting, or admits that she is a failure. So long as she keeps her part of the contract, I will keep mine."
Another and more powerful reason for absenting himself from all neighborhoods where he might meet her, and especially from Mrs. Anderson's boarding-house, was the fear that she might consider him in the light of a benefactor to whom she was under obligations. This galled him—to think that she might be outwardly cordial while secretly bored. For Clayton was modest enough to believe that his unassuming airs and reticent ways would not prove attractive to a high-spirited girl so many years his junior.
"What a surprise," cried Martha, entering the parlor suddenly. She was dressed for the street. In fact, had Clayton been a few minutes later, he would have missed her altogether, for Aunt Jane had announced his visit just in the nick of time.
"Hello," said Clayton, greeting her cordially. "What's the trouble between you and Aunt Jane?"
"Trouble?" repeated Martha. "There isn't any."
"Then what did she mean by telephoning that you were getting a bit too wild for her?"
"She dared to say that?" exclaimed Martha, indignantly. "Oh, and so she telephoned you to come and—and tame me—I suppose?"
"Not exactly that," replied Clayton, smiling. "She did 'phone me, but that was only in accordance with my instructions. I have always felt that, as I am responsible for your being in New York, it was my duty to look after you. But that is only part of our agreement, you know. I was to advance you all the money necessary, keeping a strict account of every penny, and you in return were to take my advice, and when you became famous—repay the loan."
"When I become famous?" mused Martha, sinking onto the sofa. "I wonder if I ever will?"