ved, although it was a nervous time.
He had been full, the night before, of how amusing it would be to hear
the critics slang him for a change, instead of finding all those dull
superlatives that put the public off: but remembering his past fury
with those few reviews which found some blemish in his work, she had
her misgivings.

"Only I expect," she said, "it may seem rather curious at first--having
bad notices, I mean." She looked across at him covertly and anxiously.
She had begun, by now, to knit waistcoats for him and felt as though
they had been married for eternity.

Hubert, lounging idly in the other armchair, merely laughed. "Curious?
Well, amusing.... It'll certainly be something new to be slated by the
critics and rushed after by the libraries. It's usually been the other
way about!" He knew, himself, that he would feel the blame from
critics who had liked his work, but then---- After all, if the readers
liked it and were thousands where they had been hundreds----! And
there was the money....

Next morning the paper boy delivered a specially large roll of papers
and Hubert flung himself upon them with unusual vigour. Helena, her
eyes fixed on a letter where the words all flickered, was anxious to
what might seem an unjustified extent. She could just see him with one
corner of her eye.

Paper after paper was torn open; his gaze ran greedily along the
columns; but he never paused to read.

At length he flung the last one down with a fierce gesture.

"It's a boycott," he cried petulantly. "I've always had at least two
notices, for years, upon the day. We sent them out early on purpose.
It's nothing but a boycott."

He seemed to find some consolation in that word with its historical
immensity.

"How too bad, dearest," murmured Helena, in duty and with a sinking
heart. She saw no cause for any boycott. And she knew that his other
novels had better deserved any privilege.

On four dreary mornings the same tragic farce took place, and also with
the evening papers. Then on the fifth day Hubert's fast-travelling
eyes stopped abruptly, he said "Ha!" and then read out with a naive joy
"_Was It Worth While?_"

"Good," exclaimed Helena, still doubtful.

Suddenly he gave a wild laugh. "I like that," he said. "That is
rich." He put the paper down very gently on the table. Then he raised
the cover from the buttered eggs.

"What is it, dear?" she compelled herself to ask.

"They say," annou