tempting ones,
in fact--he accepted at once; not that he had anything by him in
manuscript just then of the kind required from him, but he felt a
vague sense of power to turn out something very fine indeed, long
before the time appointed for the fulfilment of his promises.

But, so far, he had not done any regular literary work since his
defection: he was still at St. Peter's, which occupied most of his
time, but somehow, now that he could devote his evenings without
scruple to the delights of composition, those delights seemed to have
lost their keenness, and besides, he had begun to go out a great deal.

He had plenty of time before him, however, and his prospects were
excellent; he was sure of considerable sums under his many agreements
as soon as he had leisure to set to work. There could be no greater
mistake than for a young writer to flood the market from his
inkstand--a reflection which comforted Mark for a rather long and
unexpected season of drought.

Chilton and Fladgate had begun to sound him respecting a second book,
but Mark could not yet decide whether to make his _coup_ with 'One
Fair Daughter' or 'Sweet Bells Jangled.' At first he had been
feverishly anxious to get a book out which should be legitimately his
own as soon as possible, but now, when the time had come, he hung
back.

He did not exactly feel any misgivings as to their merits, but he
could not help seeing that with every day it was becoming more and
more difficult to put 'Illusion' completely in the shade, and that if
he meant to effect this, he could afford to neglect no precautions.
New and brilliant ideas, necessitating the entire reconstruction of
the plots, were constantly occurring to him, and he set impulsively to
work, shifting and interpolating, polishing and repolishing, until he
must have invested his work with a dazzling glitter--and yet he could
not bring himself to part with it.

He was engaged in this manner one Wednesday afternoon in his rooms,
when he heard a slow heavy step coming up the stairs, followed by a
sharp rap at the door of his bedroom, which adjoined his sitting-room.
He shouted to the stranger to come in, and an old gentleman entered
presently by the door connecting the two rooms, in whom he recognised
Mr. Lightowler's irascible neighbour. He stood there for a few moments
without a word, evidently overcome by anger, which Mark supposed was
due to annoyance at having first blundered into the bedroom. 'It's