books all day; but no
solicitor seemed struck by my industry. Then I sat in court and took
down judgments most elaborately, but no leader ever asked _me_ to take
notes for him, and I never got a chance of suggesting anything to the
court as _amicus curiae_, for both the Vice-Chancellors seemed able to
get along pretty well without me. Then I got tired of that, and
somehow this book got into my head, and I couldn't rest till I'd got
it out again. It's finished now, and I'm lonely again.'

'And you want me to run my eye over it and lick it into shape a
little?' asked Mark.

'Not quite that,' said Holroyd; 'it must stand as it is. What I'm
going to ask you is this: I don't know any fellow I would care to ask
but yourself. I want it published. I shall be out of England, probably
with plenty of other matters to occupy me for some time. I want you to
look after the manuscript for me while I'm away. Do you mind taking
the trouble?'

'Not a bit, old fellow,' said Mark, 'no trouble in the world; only
tying up the parcel each time, sending it off again. Well, I didn't
mean that; but it's no trouble, really.'

'I dare say you won't be called upon to see it through the press,'
said Holroyd; 'but if such a thing as an acceptance should happen, I
should like you to make all the arrangements. You've had some
experience in these things, and I haven't, and I shall be away too.'

'I'll do the best I can,' said Mark. 'What sort of a book is it?'

'It's a romance, as I said,' said Holroyd. 'I don't know that I can
describe it more exactly: it----'

'Oh, it doesn't matter,' interrupted Mark. 'I can read it some time.
What have you called it?'

'"Glamour,"' said Holroyd, still with a sensitive shrinking at having
to reveal what had long been a cherished secret.

'It isn't a society novel, I suppose?'

'No,' said Holroyd. 'I'm not much of a society man; I go out very
little.'

'But you ought to, you know: you'll find people very glad to see you
if you only cultivate them.'

There was something, however, in Mark's manner of saying this that
suggested a consciousness that this might be a purely personal
experience.

'Shall I?' said Holroyd. 'I don't know. People are kind enough, but
they can only be really glad to see any one who is able to amuse them
or interest them, and that's natural enough. I can't flatter myself
that I'm particularly interesting or amusing; any way, it's too late
to think about that now.'

'You won't b