ain.'

She wished to know if her mother had heard any private remarks on this
subject, but she could not bring herself to ask directly.

'I'm sure I don't know,' replied Mrs Yule, smoothing her dress. 'He
hasn't said anything to me, Marian.'

An awkward silence. The mother had fixed her eyes on the mantelpiece,
and was thinking hard.

'Otherwise,' said Marian, 'he would have said something, I should think,
about meeting in London.'

'But is there anything in--this gentleman that he wouldn't like?'

'I don't know of anything.'

Impossible to pursue the dialogue; Marian moved uneasily, then rose,
said something about putting the letter away, and left the room.

Shortly after, Alfred Yule entered the house. It was no uncommon thing
for him to come home in a mood of silent moroseness, and this evening
the first glimpse of his face was sufficient warning. He entered the
dining-room and stood on the hearthrug reading an evening paper. His
wife made a pretence of straightening things upon the table.

'Well?' he exclaimed irritably. 'It's after five; why isn't dinner
served?'

'It's just coming, Alfred.'

Even the average man of a certain age is an alarming creature when
dinner delays itself; the literary man in such a moment goes beyond all
parallel. If there be added the fact that he has just returned from a
very unsatisfactory interview with a publisher, wife and daughter may
indeed regard the situation as appalling. Marian came in, and at once
observed her mother's frightened face.

'Father,' she said, hoping to make a diversion, 'Mr Hinks has sent you
his new book, and wishes--'

'Then take Mr Hinks's new book back to him, and tell him that I have
quite enough to do without reading tedious trash. He needn't expect
that I'm going to write a notice of it. The simpleton pesters me beyond
endurance. I wish to know, if you please,' he added with savage calm,
'when dinner will be ready. If there's time to write a few letters, just
tell me at once, that I mayn't waste half an hour.'

Marian resented this unreasonable anger, but she durst not reply.

At that moment the servant appeared with a smoking joint, and Mrs
Yule followed carrying dishes of vegetables. The man of letters seated
himself and carved angrily. He began his meal by drinking half a glass
of ale; then he ate a few mouthfuls in a quick, hungry way, his head
bent closely over the plate. It happened commonly enough that dinner
passed without a word