n composure. Day after
day the Hermit continued his search, and came home weary and
disappointed; day by day Philippa listened to his report with a steady
face, and abated not one of her usual efforts for the comfort of the
household, while the three younger sisters set their teeth and went on
doggedly with their work.

"If we were actresses or public singers we should have to keep our
appointments, and smile and look cheerful; if we were clerks or teachers
we should have to turn out as usual, and be patient and forbearing; if
we were shop assistants we should have to stand on our feet all day
long, and be polite, however much we were aggravated. We are poor
things if we call ourselves working women and then indulge our feelings
like any fine lady," Theo had said sternly to two drooping figures who
sat by the fire gazing at idle fingers, and she had no need to speak a
second time. In the temporary eclipse of Madge's bright spirits, Theo
had taken upon herself to be the cheery, inspiring member of the family,
which role shook her out of the old self-engrossed groove, and suited
her well. Now, as she went into her room and sat down at her desk, her
heart swelled with a sense of joy and gratitude for the talent which had
been entrusted to her care. She took up her manuscript and set to work
with none of the difficulty and hesitation which often hampered her
progress: the thoughts crowded into her brain; the right word came of
itself and did not need to be sought; the difficult point was overcome,
and she laughed with delight at the wittiness of her own dialogue.
Here, then, was a discovery, that even sorrow had its compensation,
since it brought with it fresh understanding, earnestness, and delicacy
of touch. When she went in to lunch, the light on her face made her
sisters look and wonder.

"No need to ask how you have fared to-day, Theo," Hope said. "I don't
know who your characters are at the moment, but they have been good
children this morning."

"Couldn't be better," said the author brightly. "So charmingly alive,
and saying such witty things! It is a curious delusion, but when I do
my best work I always feel as if some one else suggested it. I was sad
enough in my own heart to-day, but as I wrote a little sprite seemed to
whisper in my ear. The good things _came_! I didn't create them. I
suppose the really great writers often feel like that I am quite sure
that when they read over their books they ar