ation of this infant; it was so manifestly sincere
that the mother could not but be moved to a grateful friendliness
whenever she listened to its expression. Even this afternoon the usual
effect followed when Edith had made a pretty and tender fool of herself
for several minutes. Amy bade the servant make tea.

At this moment the door from the passage opened, and Reardon looked in.

'Well, if this isn't marvellous!' cried Edith. 'I should as soon have
expected the heavens to fall!'

'As what?' asked Reardon, with a pale smile.

'As you to show yourself when I am here.'

'I should like to say that I came on purpose to see you, Mrs Carter,
but it wouldn't be true. I'm going out for an hour, so that you can take
possession of the other room if you like, Amy.'

'Going out?' said Amy, with a look of surprise.

'Nothing--nothing. I mustn't stay.'

He just inquired of Mrs Carter how her husband was, and withdrew. The
door of the flat was heard to close after him.

'Let us go into the study, then,' said Amy, again in rather a cold
voice.

On Reardon's desk were lying slips of blank paper. Edith, approaching on
tiptoe with what was partly make believe, partly genuine, awe, looked at
the literary apparatus, then turned with a laugh to her friend.

'How delightful it must be to sit down and write about people one has
invented! Ever since I have known you and Mr Reardon I have been tempted
to try if I couldn't write a story.'

'Have you?'

'And I'm sure I don't know how you can resist the temptation. I feel
sure you could write books almost as clever as your husband's.'

'I have no intention of trying.'

'You don't seem very well to-day, Amy.'

'Oh, I think I am as well as usual.'

She guessed that her husband was once more brought to a standstill, and
this darkened her humour again.

'One of my reasons for corning,' said Edith, 'was to beg and entreat and
implore you and Mr Reardon to dine with us next Wednesday. Now, don't
put on such a severe face! Are you engaged that evening?'

'Yes; in the ordinary way. Edwin can't possibly leave his work.'

'But for one poor evening! It's such ages since we saw you.'

'I'm very sorry. I don't think we shall ever be able to accept
invitations in future.'

Amy spoke thus at the prompting of a sudden impulse. A minute ago, no
such definite declaration was in her mind.

'Never?' exclaimed Edith. 'But why? Whatever do you mean?'

'We find that social engagements cons