book that was not fit for her
to read! This 'Lynwood,' which had been written with his own heart's
blood, was counted a dangerous, poisonous thing, from which she must be
guarded!

Freda must have seen that she had hurt him, for she tried hard to
retrieve her words.

"It was tantalising to have it actually in the house, wasn't it? I have
a grudge against the Hour, for it was the review in that which set
my father against it." Then rather anxious to leave the difficult
subject--"And has your brother quite recovered from his wound?"

I think she was a little vexed that Derrick did not show more animation
in his replies about Lawrence's adventures during the war; the less he
responded the more enthusiastic she became, and I am perfectly sure that
in her heart she was thinking:

"He is jealous of his brother's fame--I am disappointed in him. He has
grown dull, and absent, and stupid, and he is dreadfully wanting in
small-talk. I fear that his life down in the provinces is turning him
into a bear."

She brought the conversation back to his book; but there was a little
touch of scorn in her voice, as if she thought to herself, "I suppose
he is one of those people who can only talk on one subject--his own
doings." Her manner was almost brusque.

"Your novel has had a great success, has it not?" she asked.

He instantly perceived her thought, and replied with a touch of dignity
and a proud smile:

"On the contrary, it has been a great failure; only three hundred and
nine copies have been sold."

"I wonder at that," said Freda, "for one so often heard it talked of."

He promptly changed the topic, and began to speak of the march past. "I
want to see Lord Starcross," he added. "I have no idea what a hero is
like."

Just then Lady Probyn came up, followed by an elderly harpy in
spectacles and false, much-frizzed fringe.

"Mrs. Carsteen wishes to be introduced to you, Mr. Vaughan; she is a
great admirer of your writings."

And poor Derrick, who was then quite unused to the species, had to
stand and receive a flood of the most fulsome flattery, delivered in
a strident voice, and to bear the critical and prolonged stare of the
spectacled eyes. Nor would the harpy easily release her prey. She kept
him much against his will, and I saw him looking wistfully now and then
towards Freda.

"It amuses me," I said to her, "that Derrick Vaughan should be so
anxious to see Lord Starcross. It reminds me of Charles Lamb's anxi