s to write one.'

'I have done it,' said Elfride, looking dubiously at Mrs. Swancourt, as
if in doubt whether she would meet with ridicule there.

'That's right. Now, then, what is it about, dear?'

'About--well, it is a romance of the Middle Ages.'

'Knowing nothing of the present age, which everybody knows about, for
safety you chose an age known neither to you nor other people. That's
it, eh? No, no; I don't mean it, dear.'

'Well, I have had some opportunities of studying mediaeval art and
manners in the library and private museum at Endelstow House, and I
thought I should like to try my hand upon a fiction. I know the time for
these tales is past; but I was interested in it, very much interested.'

'When is it to appear?'

'Oh, never, I suppose.'

'Nonsense, my dear girl. Publish it, by all means. All ladies do that
sort of thing now; not for profit, you know, but as a guarantee of
mental respectability to their future husbands.'

'An excellent idea of us ladies.'

'Though I am afraid it rather resembles the melancholy ruse of throwing
loaves over castle-walls at besiegers, and suggests desperation rather
than plenty inside.'

'Did you ever try it?'

'No; I was too far gone even for that.'

'Papa says no publisher will take my book.'

'That remains to be proved. I'll give my word, my dear, that by this
time next year it shall be printed.'

'Will you, indeed?' said Elfride, partially brightening with pleasure,
though she was sad enough in her depths. 'I thought brains were the
indispensable, even if the only, qualification for admission to the
republic of letters. A mere commonplace creature like me will soon be
turned out again.'

'Oh no; once you are there you'll be like a drop of water in a piece of
rock-crystal--your medium will dignify your commonness.'

'It will be a great satisfaction,' Elfride murmured, and thought of
Stephen, and wished she could make a great fortune by writing romances,
and marry him and live happily.

'And then we'll go to London, and then to Paris,' said Mrs. Swancourt.
'I have been talking to your father about it. But we have first to move
into the manor-house, and we think of staying at Torquay whilst that
is going on. Meanwhile, instead of going on a honeymoon scamper by
ourselves, we have come home to fetch you, and go all together to Bath
for two or three weeks.'

Elfride assented pleasantly, even gladly; but she saw that, by this
marriage, her father and he