"It ought to be possible, Endecott." And if ever an humble suggestion of a possibility was made, Faith made it then.
"I shall have to go back to my first answer," said Mr. Linden,—"I have no words for any other. Faith, dearest—don't you know that it is not needful? Will that content you, little sweet one?"
A soft "no."
"Why not?" he said, making good his threat. "What do you want me to have more than I need?"
"I fear the ways you will take to make that true. I should think you might, Endecott!"—The ellipsis was not hard to supply.
"I shall not take any unlawful means—nor any unwise ones, I hope," he said lightly. "What are you afraid I shall do?"
"Get up early in the morning," she whispered.
"But that is so pleasant! Do you suppose I get up late now, little bird?"
"Not late, with breakfast at seven. How early do you?"
"Philosophically early! Do you know you have not had your poem to-day?—what shall it be? sunrise or sunset?"