for three months. Think--three months of the
best part of the year at the seaside! Oh, you will do wonders!'

The furniture was to be housed at Mrs Yule's. Neither of them durst
speak of selling it; that would have sounded too ominous. As for the
locality of Reardon's retreat, Amy herself had suggested Worthing, which
she knew from a visit a few years ago; the advantages were its proximity
to London, and the likelihood that very cheap lodgings could be found
either in the town or near it. One room would suffice for the hapless
author, and his expenses, beyond a trifling rent, would be confined to
mere food.

Oh yes, he might manage on considerably less than a pound a week.

Amy was in much better spirits than for a long time; she appeared to
have convinced herself that there was no doubt of the issue of this
perilous scheme; that her husband would write a notable book, receive a
satisfactory price for it, and so re-establish their home. Yet her moods
varied greatly. After all, there was delay in the letting of the flat,
and this caused her annoyance. It was whilst the negotiations were still
pending that she made her call upon Maud and Dora Milvain; Reardon did
not know of her intention to visit them until it had been carried out.
She mentioned what she had done in almost a casual manner.

'I had to get it over,' she said, when Reardon exhibited surprise, 'and
I don't think I made a very favourable impression.'

'You told them, I suppose, what we are going to do?'

'No; I didn't say a word of it.'

'But why not? It can't be kept a secret. Milvain will have heard of it
already, I should think, from your mother.'

'From mother? But it's the rarest thing for him to go there. Do you
imagine he is a constant visitor? I thought it better to say nothing
until the thing is actually done. Who knows what may happen?'

She was in a strange, nervous state, and Reardon regarded her uneasily.
He talked very little in these days, and passed hours in dark reverie.
His book was finished, and he awaited the publisher's decision.

PART THREE

CHAPTER XVI. REJECTION

One of Reardon's minor worries at this time was the fear that by chance
he might come upon a review of 'Margaret Home.' Since the publication of
his first book he had avoided as far as possible all knowledge of what
the critics had to say about him; his nervous temperament could not bear
the agitation of reading these remarks, which, however inept, defin