"Whom else could I tell? You are the only one who can understand."
"Alayne could."
Eden said irritably: "I tell you, there's nothing—less than nothing—between Alayne and me now! When you're older you'll find out that there is no one so difficult to confide in as someone you have ceased to love—no matter how much you may have in common. We're always on our guard now that I am better."
"I don't see how you can live in the Hut together—if things are like that."
"We can't! She's going back to her work. I'm going away. Drummond says I must be in the open air all winter. That's the trouble." His fair face was shadowed by some disturbing thought. "Renny wants to send me to California. But I've made up my mind that I shan't go there. I must go to France. It will not only be a thousand times more congenial to me, but I'll be able to search out the beginnings of French Canadian history. I want to get at the roots. In fact, I must, or I'll never do this thing as I want to do it. I want to spend a year in France—stay till I've finished the poem—but how am I to do it? Renny can never afford money enough for that." The shadow on his face deepened to an expression of melancholy. "I'm helpless. I suppose I'll have to go just where I'm sent. There is no one to lend me an extra two thousand. I'd need that much."
"If only," cried Finch, "I had my money! I'd help you like a shot."
Eden gave him a warm look. "You would! I believe you. You're a trump, Finch! I'd take it, too, but—not as a gift. I'd pay it back with interest, once I'd got on my feet. But what's the use? Your money's tied up for ages."
Finch was tremendously stirred. If only he could help Eden! This new Eden who had talked to him about his poetry—while it was still seething in his poet's mind. A passionate desire to help him surged through all his being. Why, it was only right that he should help him, give him all the money he needed! Hadn't he risked his
