“It’s a shame to anyone that knew Rich as I did a few years ago,” his mother said.  “There wasn’t a brighter nor a hardier child.  It wasn’t until we came to this city that he begun to give way—­and what wonder?  It’d kill a horse to live in this place.  I wish to God that I had got him out of it when he had that first spell.  I may be—­I don’t know, but I may be too late now.”  Tears came to her eyes, the hard tears of a proud and suffering woman.  She took out a folded handkerchief and pressed it unashamedly to her eyes.  “But he wouldn’t go,” she resumed, clearing her throat.  “He was going to stay here, live or die.  And Miss Clay, you know why!” She stopped short, a terrible look upon Magsie.

“I?” faltered Magsie, coloring, and feeling as if she would cry herself.

“You kept him,” said his mother.  “He hung round you like a bee round a rose—­poor, sick boy that he was!  He’s losing sleep now because he can’t get you out of his thoughts.”

She stopped again, and Magsie hung her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said slowly.  And with the childish words came childish tears.  “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Gardiner,” stammered Magsie.  “I know—­I’ve known all along—­how Richie feels to me.  I suppose I could have stopped him, got him to go away, perhaps, in time.  But—­but I’ve been unhappy myself, Mrs. Gardiner.  A person—­ I love has been cruel to me.  I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I worry and worry!” Magsie was frankly crying now.  “I wish there was something I could do for Richie, but I can’t tell him I care!” she sobbed.

Both women sat in miserable silence for a moment, then Richard Gardiner’s mother said:  “It wouldn’t do you any harm to just—­if you would—­to just see him, would it?  Don’t say anything about this other man.  Could you do that?  Couldn’t you let him think that maybe if he went away and came back all well you’d—­you might—­ there might be some chance for him?  Doctor says he’s got to go away at once if he’s going to get well.”

The anguish in her voice and manner reached Magsie at last.  There was nothing cruel about the little actress, however sordid her ambitions and however selfish her plans.

“Could you get him away, now?” she said almost timidly.  “Is he strong enough to go?”

“That’s what Doctor says; he ought to go away to-day, but—­but he won’t lissen to me,” his mother answered with trembling lips.  “He’s all I have.  I just live for Rich.  I loved his father, and when Dick was killed I had only him.”

“I’ll go see him,” said Magsie in sudden generous impulse.  “I’ll tell him to take care of himself.  It’s simply wicked of him to throw his life away like this.”

“Miss Clay,” said Mrs. Gardiner with a break in her strong, deep voice, “if you do that—­may the Lord send you the happiness you give my boy!” She began to cry again.

“Why, Mrs. Gardiner,” said Magsie in a hurt, childish voice, “I like Richie!”