Fetherel, "hear the bel

ng-room, with its pervading implication of an imminent tea-tray and of an atmosphere in which the social functions have become purely reflex, lent to her decla

atiently. "If I shuddered at the

ger on her cousin's shabby black knee. "I m

glance of intelligence.

re to now, at any minute

tive of being set in order every morning by the housemaid. Some one (there were rumors that it was her cousin) had onc

mile. "Well," she said, "I suppose you were

. "It isn't their coming," she

ow

shop's

her lips to a whistle which defle

Mrs. Fether

you prepared f

hadn't thought of his

should he

you understan

oh

expected tone-one might al

bserving her cousin between lids wrinkled

te gesture of a woman who lays bare the traces of a

Clinch's enjoyment o

ng for the reviews-who would ever have suspected John of knowing that books were reviewed? Why, he's actually found out about the Clipping Bureau, and whenever the postman rings I hear John rush out of the librar

"but your modesty strikes me as abnormal, especially in an author. The chances are that

el stared.

-the-Persecution-of-Rising-Authors. Some of them have even been k

you don't quite see my point. I'm not at all nervous about the success of my book-my pub

d Mrs. Clinc

had withdrawn, Mrs. Fetherel, bending her brightly rippled head above the kett

rs. Clinch mused. "Ye

hing quieter-less pronounced; but I was determined not to shirk the responsibility of what

e never met with before. So few books fulfil the promise of their titles

re," her cousin significantly returned. "I've handled t

ause every spare minute of my time has been given to correcting the proofs of 'How t

o much is at stake; I've put so much of myself into this book and I'm so afraid of being misunderstood...of being, as it were, in advance of my time... like poor Flaubert....

cloak about her, stood surveying from her ge

use John's

ventions must have the courage of her convictions and be willing to accept the consequences of defying society. Can you imagine Ibsen or Tolstoy writing under a false name?" Mrs. Fetherel lifted a tragic eye to her cousin. "You don't know, Bella, how often I've envied you

this very moment, and I shouldn't have to ruin this umbrella by using it in the rain. Why, you innocent, if I'd ever felt the slightest aptitude for showing up social conventions, do you suppose I should waste my time writing 'Nests Ajar' an

in Mrs. Clinch's pleasantries, and on this occ

not written with the

ilosophic shrug. "The surprise will be all the pleasanter, I mean. For of course it

not for myself alone, but for all the other women in the world who have felt the hollowness of our social shams, the ignominy of bowing down to the idols of the market, but have lacked either the courage or the power to proclaim their in

s though to free her ample shoulders from any drop

l find, my dear, that women who've had any wading to do are rath

at the same instant she dropped her tea-spoon with a clatter and shrank back i

ed. The Bishop always entered a room well; but, when unannounced, or preceded by a Low Church butler who gave him his surname, his appearance lacked the impressiveness conferred on it by the due spe

"-inexplicably languished on the back shelves of a publisher noted for his dexterity in pushing "devotional goods." Even this indiscretion the Bishop might, however, have condoned, had his niece thought fit to turn to him for support and advice at the painful juncture of her history when, in her own words, it became necessary for her to invite Mr. Clinch to look out for another situation. Mr. Clinch's mi

nd on this occasion Mrs. Clinch thought she detected, in the salutation which fell to her share, a pronounced