or the last twenty years, but from which
he had not long ago withdrawn a large portion of his invested capital.
This house was known as 'Turberville & Co.,' a name which Marian now
heard for the first time.

'I knew nothing of his association with them,' said her father. 'They
tell me that seven or eight thousand pounds will be realised from that
source; it seems a pity that the investment was not left to you intact.
Whether there will be any delay in withdrawing the money I can't say.'

The executors were two old friends of the deceased, one of them a former
partner in his paper-making concern.

On the evening of the second day, about an hour after dinner was over,
Mr Hinks called at the house; as usual, he went into the study. Before
long came a second visitor, Mr Quarmby, who joined Yule and Hinks. The
three had all sat together for some time, when Marian, who happened to
be coming down stairs, saw her father at the study door.

'Ask your mother to let us have some supper at a quarter to ten,' he
said urbanely. 'And come in, won't you? We are only gossiping.'

It had not often happened that Marian was invited to join parties of
this kind.

'Do you wish me to come?' she asked.

'Yes, I should like you to, if you have nothing particular to do.'

Marian informed Mrs Yule that the visitors would have supper, and then
went to the study. Mr Quarmby was smoking a pipe; Mr Hinks, who on
grounds of economy had long since given up tobacco, sat with his hands
in his trouser pockets, and his long, thin legs tucked beneath the
chair; both rose and greeted Marian with more than ordinary warmth.

'Will you allow me five or six more puffs?' asked Mr Quarmby, laying one
hand on his ample stomach and elevating his pipe as if it were a glass
of beaded liquor. 'I shall then have done.'

'As many more as you like,' Marian replied.

The easiest chair was placed for her, Mr Hinks hastening to perform this
courtesy, and her father apprised her of the topic they were discussing.

'What's your view, Marian? Is there anything to be said for the
establishment of a literary academy in England?'

Mr Quarmby beamed benevolently upon her, and Mr Hinks, his scraggy neck
at full length, awaited her reply with a look of the most respectful
attention.

'I really think we have quite enough literary quarrelling as it is,' the
girl replied, casting down her eyes and smiling.

Mr Quarmby uttered a hollow chuckle, Mr Hinks laughed thinly an