together," she said in nervous welcome as she led the way to her own
sitting-room, that with its red lacquer and its screen painted with
birds-of-paradise hid itself away in a corner of the house. Ordinarily
Guy would have accepted it as a sign of the highest favor to be brought
to her small room, but this morning it seemed to imprison him.

"Yes ... charming ... a little talk," said Mrs. Grey; and Guy, while he
waited for her to begin, watched the mandarins that moved in absurd
reduplications all about her arm-chair's faded green pattern.

"Of course it was rather a surprise to us all last night ... yes.... I
expect it was a surprise to you. And you really think you ought to go?"

"I'm getting rather discouraged about poetry," Guy confessed. "I'm
beginning to think that what I've written isn't much good, and that if I
am ever going to write anything worth while it will be because I've
learned to be less self-conscious about it. If I went to Persia with Sir
George Gascony I should probably be kept fairly busy, and if there was
any poetry left in me after that, well, it might be good stuff."

"But you've not seen yet what people think of what you have written ...
no ... you see, the poems haven't been published yet, which is very
vexing ... and so I thought.... I mean the Rector thought that if there
was any difficulty he would like to help you to publish them ... yes ...
rather than go away to Persia ... you know ... yes ... poor little
Pauline was crying nearly all night, and I don't think you ought to go
away suddenly like this ... no ... and we couldn't find an atlas
anywhere!"

"You think I ought not to go?" said Guy, and he realized as he spoke
that he was disappointed.

"I do think that after all these months of hoping for your poems to be a
success you ought at least to try them first, and then afterwards we can
talk about Persia. I'm afraid you think I've been too strict about
Pauline ... perhaps I have ... yes ... and so I think that now Spring is
here you can go out every day ... yes ... charming ... now that the
weather is getting better...."

But now every day, thought Guy, bitterly, there would be recriminations
between them.

"Of course if you think I ought not to go, I won't," he said. "I'll
write to Comeragh and refuse."

"I'm sure you're glad, aren't you?"

"Oh, rather."

"We all understood why you thought you ought to go, and now I've another
plan ... yes ... charming.... I'm going to se