says, and now and then a review, and little stories."

"Little stories--ouf!" he muttered, in evident disgust. "You don't put
your name to these things!"

"I did to one article, last March, in _The Decade_."

"That is Graham's magazine, and I daresay Graham asked you to sign your
name. When I see him I shall tell him it was done without sufficient
consideration."

"All articles are signed in _The Decade_," said Lettice. She did not
think it worth while to mention that Graham had written her a very
flattering letter about her article, telling her that it had attracted
notice--that the critics said she had a style of her own, and was likely
to make her mark. The letter had reached her on the morning before her
father's death, and she had found but a brief satisfaction in it at the
time.

"I think you had better not say anything to Mr. Graham," she continued.
"They have both been very kind, and we shall not have too many friends
in London."

"Why do you want to live in London?"

"I think I should like it, and mother would like it too. You know she
has fifty pounds a year of her own, and if what Mr. Graham says is right
we shall be able to live very comfortably."

"I can't say I like this writing for a living," he said.

"I suppose we cannot have everything as we like it. And, besides, I do
like it. It is congenial work, and it makes me feel independent."

"It is not always good for women to be independent. It is dangerous."

She laughed--a pleasant little rallying laugh.

"I hope you will not be shocked," she said. "I have set my heart on
being perfectly independent of you and everybody else."

He saw that she would have her way, and let the subject drop.

A few weeks afterwards, Lettice and her mother had packed up their
belongings and went to London. The Grahams were delighted to have them,
for Lettice was a great favorite with both. James Graham was a literary
man of good standing, who, in addition to editing _The Decade_, wrote
for one of the weekly papers, and reviewed books in his special lines
for one of the dailies. By dint of hard work, and carefully nursing his
connection, he contrived to make a living; and that was all. Literary
work is not well paid as a rule. There is fair pay to be had on the
staff of the best daily papers, but that kind of work requires a special
aptitude. It requires, in particular, a supple and indifferent mind,
ready to take its cue from other people, with the art of repre