"No. We began with that; people who need help can't let you help them. Don't they know where their father is?"
"No. But of course they must, now, before long."
Maxwell said, after the silence that followed upon this. "I should like to have a peep into that man's soul."
"Horrors! Why should you?" asked Louise.
"It would be such splendid material. If he is fond of his children—"
"He and Sue dote upon each other. I don't see how she can endure him; he always made me feel creepy."
"Then he must have written that letter to conciliate public feeling, and to make his children easier about him and his future. And now if you could see him when he realizes that he's only brought more shame on them, and forced them to beggar themselves—it would be a tremendous situation."
"But I shouldn't like to see him at such a time. It seems to me, that's worse than interviewing, Mr. Maxwell."
There was a sort of recoil from him in her tone, which perhaps he felt. It seemed to interest, rather than offend him. "You don't get the artistic point of view."
"I don't want to get it, if that's it. And if your play is going to be about any such thing as that—"