"
"It can't go on, you know," said Kraill, lighting a cigarette and
throwing it down impatiently.
"I know. That's why I wrote you that letter. He is so unhappy."
Kraill made an impatient gesture. Marcella stood up slowly.
"Are you tired? You must be," she said.
"No. I want to see this thing settled," he said. She felt very hopeful
to hear him speak so determinedly.
"It's queer that you think as I do about that, Professor Kraill," she
said with a faint smile. "People say other's troubles are not their
business. But I think that's a most wicked heresy. I always interfere if
I see people miserable. I can't bear to be blank and uninterested."
"Neither can I. I often get disliked for it, however," he said with a
quick, impatient sigh. "And they don't often accept one's interference."
"I shall," she said gently. "I shall do whatever you tell me if it will
make Louis well. I think that is really all I care about in the world.
Sometimes, even, I think I care more about Louis than Andrew. I've a
feeling that he's much more a little boy than Andrew is. You know, all
my life, since I saw my father very unhappy and ill, I've wanted to save
people--in great droves! And now I'm beginning to think I can't save one
man."
"And you think I can?"
"I'm quite sure of it. People are not wise like you are just for fun.
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