the copyright of ten per cent. would not begin until after
the sale of the first thousand copies.

The latter part of the letter made no impression on Philip. So long as
the book was published, and by a respectable firm, he was indifferent as
a lord to the ignoble details of royalty. The publisher had recognized
the value of the book, and it was accepted on its merits. That was
enough. The first thing he did was to enclose the letter to Celia,
with the simple remark that he would try to sympathize with her in her
disappointment.

Philip would have been a little less jubilant if he had known how the
decision of the publishing house was arrived at. It was true that the
readers had reported favorably, but had refused to express any opinion
on the market value. The manuscript had therefore been put in the
graveyard of manuscripts, from which there is commonly no resurrection
except in the funeral progress of the manuscript back to the author.
But the head of the house happened to dine at the house of Mr. Hunt, the
senior of Philip's law firm. Some chance allusion was made by a lady to
an article in a recent magazine which had pleased her more than anything
she had seen lately. Mr. Hunt also had seen it, for his wife had
insisted on reading it to him, and he was proud to say that the author
was a clerk in his office--a fine fellow, who, he always fancied, had
more taste for literature than for law, but he had the stuff in him to
succeed in anything. The publisher pricked up his ears and asked some
questions. He found that Mr. Burnett stood well in the most prominent
law firm in the city, that ladies of social position recognized his
talent, that he dined here and there in a good set, and that he belonged
to one of the best clubs. When he went to his office the next morning he
sent for the manuscript, looked it over critically, and then announced
to his partners that he thought the thing was worth trying.

In a day or two it was announced in the advertising lists as
forthcoming. There it stared Philip in the face and seemed to be the
only conspicuous thing in the journal. He had not paid much attention
before to the advertisements, but now this department seemed the most
interesting part of the paper, and he read every announcement, and then
came back and read his over and over. There it stood:--"On Saturday, The
Puritan Nun. An Idyl. By Philip Burnett."

The naming of the book had been almost as difficult as the creation