I got to my feet. "Yes, I will. You can come to-morrow—to-night, if you like. You're too good to lose, Ingram. I'm poor; but there's enough for two men like ourselves to struggle along on, even now. I can get you work of a sort almost at once; it'll be hack work, but you won't feel equal to anything better for awhile. Later on, when you're more yourself——"
Ingram shivered, and then, putting his hands on my shoulders, considered me a long while gravely and tenderly. I could have cursed to think of the charm of the man, wasted in loneliness and silence, and put to such base uses at last.
"My! but you're white, Prentice, you're white," he said. "Sit down"—in a lighter voice. "It's not as bad as it sounds. A man doesn't fall into a pit like that so suddenly. No; at first it was advances—advances; nothing more."
"On your book?" catching at a straw.
"Yes—on my book."
"From publishers?"
"I thought so at first. When I asked the question outright, it was too late. I was in debt already."
"But, my dear Ingram," I said, immensely relieved; "if Mrs. Hepworth—I suppose you mean Mrs. Hepworth——?"
"Yes."
"Well, if she liked to back her own opinion, I don't see where dishonor comes in at all. She's helped other people. And even if, when it's published, it turns out badly——"