They had just reached coffee at Mrs. Leighton’s when he arrived and sat down with them and began to put some of the life of his new hope into them.  His appetite revived, and, after protesting that he would not take anything but coffee, he went back and ate some of the earlier courses.  But with the pressure of his purpose driving him forward, he did not conceal from Miss Woodburn, at least, that he was eager to get her apart from the rest for some reason.  When he accomplished this, it seemed as if he had contrived it all himself, but perhaps he had not wholly contrived it.

“I’m so glad to get a chance to speak to you alone,” he said at once; and while she waited for the next word he made a pause, and then said, desperately, “I want you to help me; and if you can’t help me, there’s no help for me.”

“Mah goodness,” she said, “is the case so bad as that?  What in the woald is the trouble?”

“Yes, it’s a bad case,” said Fulkerson.  “I want your father to help me.”

“Oh, I thoat you said me!”

“Yes; I want you to help me with your father.  I suppose I ought to go to him at once, but I’m a little afraid of him.”

“And you awe not afraid of me?  I don’t think that’s very flattering, Mr. Fulkerson.  You ought to think Ah’m twahce as awful as papa.”

“Oh, I do!  You see, I’m quite paralyzed before you, and so I don’t feel anything.”

“Well, it’s a pretty lahvely kyand of paralysis.  But—­go on.”

“I will—­I will.  If I can only begin.”

“Pohaps Ah maght begin fo’ you.”

“No, you can’t.  Lord knows, I’d like to let you.  Well, it’s like this.”

Fulkerson made a clutch at his hair, and then, after another hesitation, he abruptly laid the whole affair before her.  He did not think it necessary to state the exact nature of the offence Lindau had given Dryfoos, for he doubted if she could grasp it, and he was profuse of his excuses for troubling her with the matter, and of wonder at himself for having done so.  In the rapture of his concern at having perhaps made a fool of himself, he forgot why he had told her; but she seemed to like having been confided in, and she said, “Well, Ah don’t see what you can do with you’ ahdeals of friendship except stand bah Mr. Mawch.”

“My ideals of friendship?  What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t you suppose we know?  Mr. Beaton said you we’ a pofect Bahyard in friendship, and you would sacrifice anything to it.”

“Is that so?” said Fulkerson, thinking how easily he could sacrifice Lindau in this case.  He had never supposed before that he was chivalrous in such matters, but he now began to see it in that light, and he wondered that he could ever have entertained for a moment the idea of throwing March over.

“But Ah most say,” Miss Woodburn went on, “Ah don’t envy you you’ next interview with Mr. Dryfoos.  Ah suppose you’ll have to see him at once aboat it.”