the bewilderment of illiterate postmen. It sounded
like the name of a public-house to them.

Peter was quite lost in the blaze of his wife's literary glory. He was
a plain, homely, small man, as meek as a rabbit, fond of his garden and
fireside, and nervous in society. Had he not committed the fatal
mistake of wedding Mrs. Saxon, he would have taken a cottage in the
country and cultivated flowers. As it was, he dwelt in town and was
ordered to escort Mrs. Octagon when she chose to "blaze," as she put
it, in her friends' houses. Also there was a reception every Friday
when literary London gathered round "Rowena," and lamented the decline
of Art. These people had never done anything to speak of, none of them
were famous in any wide sense, but they talked of art with a big "A,"
though what they meant was not clear even to themselves. So far as
could be ascertained Art, with a big "A," was concerned with something
which did not sell, save to a select circle. Mrs. Octagon's circle
would have shuddered collectively and individually at the idea of
writing anything interesting, likely to be enjoyed by the toilers of
modern days. Whatever pictures, songs, books or plays were written by
anyone who did not belong to "The Circle," these were considered
"pretty, but not Tart!" Anything successful was pronounced "Vulgar!"
To be artistic in Mrs. Octagon's sense, a work had to possess
obscurity, it had to be printed on the finest paper with selected type,
and it had to be sold at a prohibitive price. In this way "Rowena" had
produced her works, and her name was not known beyond her small
coterie. All the same, she intimated that her renown was world-wide
and that her fame would be commensurate with the existence of the
Anglo-Saxon race. Mrs. Lee Hunter in the Pickwick Papers, also labored
under the same delusion.

With Peter lived Mrs. Saxon's children by the eminent Q.C. Basil, who
was twenty-five, and Juliet age twenty-two. They were both handsome
and clever, but Juliet was the more sensible of the two. She detested
the sham enthusiasm of The Circle, and appreciated Peter more than her
mother did. Basil had been spoilt by his mother, who considered him a
genius, and had produced a book of weak verse. Juliet was fond of her
brother, but she saw his faults and tried to correct them. She wished
to make him more of a man and less of an artistic fraud, for the young
man really did possess talents. But the hothouse atmosph