ever. He seemed to be out of the vein. And
the children wanted things so badly. And so----

Well, one day he came to her with an expression of countenance which she
knew so well. It meant that a new idea, some fresh project, either was
germinating, or else had germinated, in his mind. In his hand he held a
newspaper.

[Illustration: "'I AM GOING IN FOR A PRIZE COMPETITION.'"]

"Philippa, I am going to do what I have told you I thought that I should
never do--I am going in for a prize competition. See here." He opened
the paper out in front of her. "The _North British Telegraph_ is
offering L500 for the best story, L250 for the second best, and L100 for
the third best. I am going to win one of those prizes--mark my words,
and see if I don't."

[Illustration: "SHE BEGAN ATTENTIVELY TO STUDY THE ANNOUNCEMENT."]

He was kneeling at the table by her chair. She had her hand upon his
shoulder. She smiled as he spoke. She knew his tone so well. He was
always going to do this, that, or the other. But somehow, after all, he
seldom did it.

"Are you? The money would be very useful."

"Useful! I should think it would. Why, to us, it would be a fortune. But
that's not the only thing. You know how ideas come to me in an instant.
Directly I saw that announcement I saw _the_ story which will be the
very thing."

"Did you?" Her heart grew faint. She was beginning to be a little afraid
of his sudden flashes of inspiration. "How long is the story to be?"

"It does not say exactly, but it says that it should not exceed a
hundred and fifty thousand words. It will give me elbow room. I shall
have a chance to let myself go--to get into my stride. I am sick of
dancing in fetters, with a limit of four thousand words or so."

"But it will take you a long time to write, won't it?"

"Oh, about six weeks. It will take me no time, when I am once well into
the story. You know how I do travel, when I once have got my grip. It is
half mapped out in my head already. Every line of it will practically be
written before I begin. There will only be the pen work to do." Putting
both his hands upon her shoulders, he stooped his eager face to hers.
"Philippa, you see if I don't do the trick this time."

"Geoffrey, if I were you, I wouldn't be so sanguine. You know how
disappointed you have been before."

Thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, he began to stride about
the room.

"Yes, I know that is so, and I won't be sanguine. But, so