Theo
ignored my criticism, and the others never even seemed to notice. I
work for them all day long, keeping the house comfortable and mending
their things, to set them free for their own work, and I am only
despised for it. It makes me mad, Steve; and, worse still, it makes me
sad."

"Poor old girl!" said Stephen softly. He leant his elbows on the
mantelpiece and ruffled his hair nervously. If Philippa had been his
wife he would have taken her in his arms and spoken all that was in his
heart, but a man feels an embarrassment in "letting himself go" before a
sister not known in the nearer and dearer relationship. He wanted to
say that the woman who makes a home has achieved a greater and nobler
work than the one who produces a mere book or picture, and that in his
eyes at least she is first and best. But he had a horror of appearing
sentimental, and what he really said was: "Horribly bad form! Upsetting
young cubs! They will get a little of the starch knocked out of them
when they find what a poor place they take among the rest."

"Oh, I don't want that! I want them to succeed," cried Philippa
quickly; and then she began to laugh and to look herself once more. "We
are like a nice, prosaic old father and mother, Steve, whose children
are so alarmingly clever that we are half-afraid of them. I am glad you
are ordinary like myself. You wouldn't be half such a strength to me if
you were a genius too."

"Poor old girl!" said Stephen again, and let his hand drop on her
shoulder with a helpful grip. He did not say that she could trust him
to stand by her always, and to uphold her in every difficulty, but she
understood the unspoken promise, and went to bed soothed and comforted.

Theo's MS was posted to Mr Hammond, and in due course an answer was
received containing no reference to the story, but simply naming an hour
for the proposed interview. The young author tried to read signs of
increased deference and respect for her attainments between the lines,
but even her optimism failed in the attempt. She grew nervous as the
time approached, and looked decidedly pale as she partook of a
strengthening cup of cocoa before dressing for the important expedition.

"What are you going to wear?" Madge inquired, and the author curled her
lip in disdain.

"My dear, how ridiculous! As if it mattered! Do you suppose for one
moment that it will make any difference to Mr Hammond whether I look
charming or a perfect f