first time), how truly that
summed up their married life: she _had_ wished to "develop an ego," he
_had_ thwarted her. He would read it too, that or another, and
suspect. Then he would get the book--and know. And he would think she
meant it all, meant all the wild complaints of Zoe, Zoe whom at first
she used to think of as "sloppy" Virginia!

It was too horrible. She loathed the stupid book, she wished that she
had never shown it. She loathed Geoffrey Alison. If poor old Hubert
ever saw...!

"I suppose we can't possibly suppress the book?" she jerked out
suddenly.

Her conversation was more startling than ever to the male brain,
to-day. "Suppress it on the strength of the first notice? When it's
been out two days? And when the notice says there can't be any doubt
about its popularity? Suppress it, indeed! What about friend
Blatchley?"

Helena gave a little sigh of absolute despair. It had been so exciting
until now: the little green book, locked away upstairs, and libraries
actually buying it before it was out, just in the weird way they did
Hubert's and real people's!

Now she loathed the book and feared it.

There was terror indeed in her very tones. "But you don't think," she
said, "they really can ever find out who the writer was? They seem to
think it's only a question of time. Mr. Blatchley couldn't be so mean."

"My dear Zoe" (he felt bound to soothe her and it was so thrilling to
say), "how can they possibly? There isn't any 'they' about it. I'm
the only person in the world who knows and I suppose you can trust
_me_?" He got up from the sofa whilst speaking and struck an attitude
quite close to her, at the last words.

"Of course I do, Ally; you're a splendid pal and I know you will never
breathe a word. It means a lot to me you see;" and she just pressed
his hand.

It was not much perhaps, but it meant a great deal to him. _He_ did
not loathe the book.

CHAPTER XIX

BUSINESS

Helena's oppression, as of some impending blow, refused to disappear.
She could not believe, whatever Geoffrey Alison might say, that their
secret could be kept until the end. Every fresh notice of the book
caused fresh alarm. With one accord reviewers harped upon the
authorship, some of the less reputed papers embarking upon guesses.

That, to Mr. Blatchley's genuine delight, began denials. He eagerly
collected all of them, and not a month had passed before Geoffrey
Alison arrived full of