it begins at length to matter a great
deal.'
'I know, confound it all! Think how it would amuse some rich
grocer's son who pitches his half-sovereign to the waiter when he
has dined himself into good humour! But I tell you what it is: you
must really try to influence him towards practicality. Don't you
think—?'
He paused, and Amy sat looking at her hands.
'I have made an attempt,' she said at length, in a distant
undertone.
'You really have?'
Jasper leaned forward, his clasped hands hanging between his
knees. He was scrutinising her face, and Amy, conscious of the too
fixed regard, at length moved her head uneasily.
'It seems very clear to me,' she said, 'that a long book is out
of the question for him at present. He writes so slowly, and is so
fastidious. It would be a fatal thing to hurry through something
weaker even than the last.'
'You think "The Optimist" weak?' Jasper asked, half
absently.
'I don't think it worthy of Edwin; I don't see how anyone
can.
'I have wondered what your opinion was. Yes, he ought to try a
new tack, I think.'
Just then there came the sound of a latch-key opening the outer
door. Jasper lay back in his chair and waited with a smile for his
expected friend's appearance; Amy made no movement.
'Oh, there you are!' said Reardon, presenting himself with the
dazzled eyes of one who has been in darkness; he spoke in a voice
of genial welcome, though it still had the note of depression.
'When did you get back?'
Milvain began to recount what he had told in the first part of
his conversation with Amy. As he did so, the latter withdrew, and
was absent for five minutes; on reappearing she said:
'You'll have some supper with us, Mr Milvain?'
'I think I will, please.'
Shortly after, all repaired to the eating-room, where
conversation had to be carried on in a low tone because of the
proximity of the bedchamber in which lay the sleeping child. Jasper
began to tell of certain things that had happened to him since his
arrival in town.
'It was a curious coincidence—but, by-the-bye, have you heard of
what The Study has been doing?'
'I should rather think so,' replied Reardon, his face lighting
up. 'With no small satisfaction.'
'Delicious, isn't it?' exclaimed his wife. 'I thought it too
good to be true when Edwin heard of it from Mr Biffen.'
All three laughed in subdued chorus. For the moment, Reardon
became a new man in his exultation over the contradictory
reviewers.
'Oh, Biffen told you, did he? Well,' continued Jasper, 'it was
an odd thing, but when I reached my lodgings on Saturday evening
there lay a note from Horace Barlow, inviting me to go and see him
on Sunday afternoon out at Wimbledon, the special reason being that
the editor of The Study would be there, and Barlow thought I might
like to meet him. Now this letter gave me a fit of laughter; not
only because of those precious reviews, but because Alfred Yule had
been telling me all about this same editor, who rejoices in the
name of Fadge. Your uncle, Mrs Reardon, declares that Fadge is the
most malicious man in the literary profession; though that's saying
such a very great deal—well, never mind! Of course I was delighted
to go and meet Fadge. At Barlow's I found the queerest collection
of people, most of them women of the inkiest description. The great
Fadge himself surprised me; I expected to see a gaunt, bilious man,
and he was the rosiest and dumpiest little dandy you can imagine; a
fellow of forty-five, I dare say, with thin yellow hair and blue
eyes and a manner of extreme innocence. Fadge flattered me with
confidential chat, and I discovered at length why Barlow had asked
me to meet him; it's Fadge that is going to edit Culpepper's new
monthly—you've heard about it?—and he had actually thought it worth
while to enlist me among contributors! Now, how's that for a piece
of news?'
The speaker looked from Reardon to Amy with a smile of vast
significance.
'I rejoice to hear it!' said Reardon, fervently.
'You see! you
deal.'
'I know, confound it all! Think how it would amuse some rich
grocer's son who pitches his half-sovereign to the waiter when he
has dined himself into good humour! But I tell you what it is: you
must really try to influence him towards practicality. Don't you
think—?'
He paused, and Amy sat looking at her hands.
'I have made an attempt,' she said at length, in a distant
undertone.
'You really have?'
Jasper leaned forward, his clasped hands hanging between his
knees. He was scrutinising her face, and Amy, conscious of the too
fixed regard, at length moved her head uneasily.
'It seems very clear to me,' she said, 'that a long book is out
of the question for him at present. He writes so slowly, and is so
fastidious. It would be a fatal thing to hurry through something
weaker even than the last.'
'You think "The Optimist" weak?' Jasper asked, half
absently.
'I don't think it worthy of Edwin; I don't see how anyone
can.
'I have wondered what your opinion was. Yes, he ought to try a
new tack, I think.'
Just then there came the sound of a latch-key opening the outer
door. Jasper lay back in his chair and waited with a smile for his
expected friend's appearance; Amy made no movement.
'Oh, there you are!' said Reardon, presenting himself with the
dazzled eyes of one who has been in darkness; he spoke in a voice
of genial welcome, though it still had the note of depression.
'When did you get back?'
Milvain began to recount what he had told in the first part of
his conversation with Amy. As he did so, the latter withdrew, and
was absent for five minutes; on reappearing she said:
'You'll have some supper with us, Mr Milvain?'
'I think I will, please.'
Shortly after, all repaired to the eating-room, where
conversation had to be carried on in a low tone because of the
proximity of the bedchamber in which lay the sleeping child. Jasper
began to tell of certain things that had happened to him since his
arrival in town.
'It was a curious coincidence—but, by-the-bye, have you heard of
what The Study has been doing?'
'I should rather think so,' replied Reardon, his face lighting
up. 'With no small satisfaction.'
'Delicious, isn't it?' exclaimed his wife. 'I thought it too
good to be true when Edwin heard of it from Mr Biffen.'
All three laughed in subdued chorus. For the moment, Reardon
became a new man in his exultation over the contradictory
reviewers.
'Oh, Biffen told you, did he? Well,' continued Jasper, 'it was
an odd thing, but when I reached my lodgings on Saturday evening
there lay a note from Horace Barlow, inviting me to go and see him
on Sunday afternoon out at Wimbledon, the special reason being that
the editor of The Study would be there, and Barlow thought I might
like to meet him. Now this letter gave me a fit of laughter; not
only because of those precious reviews, but because Alfred Yule had
been telling me all about this same editor, who rejoices in the
name of Fadge. Your uncle, Mrs Reardon, declares that Fadge is the
most malicious man in the literary profession; though that's saying
such a very great deal—well, never mind! Of course I was delighted
to go and meet Fadge. At Barlow's I found the queerest collection
of people, most of them women of the inkiest description. The great
Fadge himself surprised me; I expected to see a gaunt, bilious man,
and he was the rosiest and dumpiest little dandy you can imagine; a
fellow of forty-five, I dare say, with thin yellow hair and blue
eyes and a manner of extreme innocence. Fadge flattered me with
confidential chat, and I discovered at length why Barlow had asked
me to meet him; it's Fadge that is going to edit Culpepper's new
monthly—you've heard about it?—and he had actually thought it worth
while to enlist me among contributors! Now, how's that for a piece
of news?'
The speaker looked from Reardon to Amy with a smile of vast
significance.
'I rejoice to hear it!' said Reardon, fervently.
'You see! you
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