She would not let it go out of her hands disgraced with blunders. Her
thoughts were like children to her, not to be sent out into the world
ragged and uncouth, exposed to just ridicule and to shame.

Felicita and Madame set out on their search after a liberal publisher on
a gloomy day in January. For the first time in her life Felicita found
herself in an omnibus, with her feet buried in damp straw, and strange
fellow-passengers crushing against her. In no part of London do the
omnibuses bear comparison with the well-appointed carriages rich people
are accustomed to; and this one, besides other discomforts, was crowded
till there was barely room to move hand or foot.

"It is very cheap," said Madame cheerfully after she had paid the fare
when they were set down in Trafalgar Square "and not so very
inconvenient."

A fog filled the air and shrouded all the surrounding buildings in dull
obscurity; while the fountains, rising and falling with an odd and
ghostly movement as of gigantic living creatures, were seen dimly white
in the midst of the gray gloom. The ceaseless stream of hurrying
passers-by lost itself in darkness only a few paces from them. The
chimes of unseen belfries and the roll of carriages visible only for a
few seconds fell upon their ears. Felicita, in the secret excitement of
her mood, felt herself in some impossible world, some phantasmagoria of
a dream, which must presently disperse, and she would find herself at
home again, in her quiet, dainty study at Riversborough, where most of
the manuscript, which she held so closely in her hand, had been written.
But the dream was dispelled when she found herself entering the
publishing-house she had fixed upon as her first scene of venture. It
was a quiet place, with two or three clerks busily engaged in some
private conversation, too interesting to be abruptly terminated by the
entrance of two ladies dressed in mourning, one of whom carried a roll
of manuscript. If Felicita had been wise the manuscript would not have
been there to betray her. It made it exceedingly difficult for her to
obtain admission to the publisher, in his private room beyond; and it
was only when she turned away to go, with a sudden outflashing of
aristocratic haughtiness, that the clerk reluctantly offered to take her
card and a message to his employer.

In a few moments Felicita was entering the dark den where the fate of
her book was in the balance. Unfortunately for her she presen