The day's work was done at last, and they were hurrying back to town. They were tired, both mentally and physically, but their spirits were high. They were, moreover, grateful, and seemed, to a great degree, to understand each other. Their friendship has reached the stage at which they could indulge in confidences, Miss Palmer especially. She regarded Wyeth, out of her liquid eyes, and smiled kindly, confidentially. "I'm glad I took up the work—now."
She smiled with more confidence than before. "Yes; I am, really. I have enjoyed it." And still she smiled. He did too. She smiled back, and then, in a voice that was so soft, and kind, and confidential, she said: "You wrote it, didn't you?"
He heard the car as it crashed along through the night, for the sun had set long ago. The trees, for they were passing through the forest, flashed darkly through the electric lighted car, and Miss Palmer waited. He did not reply. After a time—shall we say minutes—she sought his eye. She was languid, and resigned to a degree. "If you would only admit that which I am positive is true, it would be so nice. I would truly be satisfied."
"What matter could it make?" and then he stopped. She might be more interesting curious than otherwise.... He remained silent.
"Oh, why do you maintain this silence regarding the authorship?" she fretted, moving restlessly about.
"Cannot we go along and sell it—that, in particular, is all that matters, isn't it?" He tried to be reasonable. "You will, as you must now see," he argued, "only need to go to the industrial people, and success will be yours." She was oblivious to all this. He resumed, somewhat uncertainly:
"If many people—especially those in the class to which I feel you belong—knew or thought that I am the author of this book, their possible interest might become doubtful; whereas, with no thought than the ordinary—that is the usual fetish—they might, after reading it, be much impressed with its message. Don't you agree with me?" He wanted to be reasonable, but Miss Palmer was silent.
She was still so when they left the car some minutes later. When they had reached the curbing and stepped upon the walk, they saw Hatfield. He had his suit case and was in somewhat of a hurry, from the strides he was making.
"Where is he going, home?" inquired Miss Palmer.