f to the propriety of
taking no more tea, crossed over to her cousin and laid a sympathizing
hand on that lady's agitated shoulder.

"It _is_ a bore at first," she conceded; "but you'll be surprised to
see how soon one gets used to it."

"I shall--never--get--used to it--" Mrs. Fetherel brokenly declared.

"Have they been so very nasty--all of them?"

"Every one of them!" the novelist sobbed.

"I'm so sorry, dear; it _does_ hurt, I know--but hadn't you rather
expected it?"

"Expected it?" cried Mrs. Fetherel, sitting up.

Mrs. Clinch felt her way warily. "I only mean, dear, that I fancied
from what you said before the book came out--that you rather
expected--that you'd rather discounted--"

"Their recommending it to everybody as a perfectly harmless story?"

"Good gracious! Is _that_ what they've done?"

Mrs. Fetherel speechlessly nodded.

"Every one of them?"

"Every one--"

"Whew!" said Mrs. Clinch, with an incipient whistle.

"Why, you've just said it yourself!" her cousin suddenly reproached her.

"Said what?"

"That you weren't so _awfully_ shocked--"

"I? Oh, well--you see, you'd keyed me up to such a pitch that it wasn't
quite as bad as I expected--"

Mrs. Fetherel lifted a smile steeled for the worst. "Why not say at
once," she suggested, "that it's a distinctly pretty story?"

"They haven't said _that?_"

"They've all said it."

"My poor Paula!"

"Even the Bishop--"

"The Bishop called it a pretty story?"

"He wrote me--I've his letter somewhere. The title rather scared
him--he wanted me to change it; but when he'd read the book he wrote
that it was all right and that he'd sent several copies to his friends."

"The old hypocrite!" cried Mrs. Clinch. "That was nothing but
professional jealousy."

"Do you think so?" cried her cousin, brightening.

"Sure of it, my dear. His own books don't sell, and he knew the
quickest way to kill yours was to distribute it through the diocese
with his blessing."

"Then you don't really think it's a pretty story?"

"Dear me, no! Not nearly as bad as that--"

"You're so good, Bella--but the reviewers?"

"Oh, the reviewers," Mrs. Clinch jeered. She gazed meditatively at the
cold remains of her tea-cake. "Let me see," she said, suddenly; "do you
happen to remember if the first review came out in an important paper?"

"Yes--the 'Radiator.'"

"That's it! I thought so. Then the others simply followed suit: they
often do if a big paper sets t