not plead bland ignorance forever; though for the present I did not know
the nature of Jaffery's scheme. Anyhow I redeemed my promise and gave
him Doria's message. He received it with a grumpy nod and said nothing.
He had become somewhat grumpy of late, even when I did not broach the
disastrous topic, and made excuses for not coming down to Northlands.

I attributed the unusual moroseness to London in vile weather. At the
best of times Jaffery grew impatient of the narrow conditions of town;
yet there he was week after week, staying in a poky set of furnished
chambers in Victoria Street, and doing nothing in particular, as far as
I could make out, save riding on the tops of motor-omnibuses without an
overcoat.

After his silent acknowledgment of the message, he stuffed his pipe
thoughtfully--we were in the smoking-room of a club (not the Athenaeum)
to which we both belonged--and then he roared out:

"Do you think she could bear the sight of me?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well"--he grinned a little--"I'm not exactly a kind of sick-room
flower."

"I think you ought to see her--you're as much trustee and executor as I
am. You might also save Barbara and myself from nerve-racking
questions."

"All right, I'll go," he said.

The interview was only fairly successful. He told her that the book
would be published as soon as possible.

"When will that be?" she asked.

Jaffery seemed to be as vague as myself.

"Is it in the printer's hands?"

"Not yet."

"Why?"

He explained that Adrian had practically finished the novel; but here
and there it needed the little trimming and tacking together, which
Adrian would have done had he lived to revise the manuscript. He himself
was engaged on this necessary though purely mechanical task of revision.

"I quite agree," said Doria to this, "that Adrian's work could not be
given out in an imperfect state. But there can't be very much to do, so
why are you taking all this time over it?"

"I'm afraid I've been rather busy," said he.

Which tactless, though I admit unavoidable, reply did not greatly please
Doria. When she saw Barbara, to whom she related this conversation, she
complained of Jaffery's unfeeling conduct. He had no right to hang up
Adrian's great novel on account of his own wretched business. Letting
the latter slide would have been a tribute to his dead friend. Barbara
did her best to soothe her; but we agreed that Jaffery had made a bad
start.

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