ot want unpleasantness in front of Ruth.

She spread the cutting out, to read. He had not published a book now
for months, so it was certain to refer to hers.

It did.

It was from _People And Paragraphs_, (which its admirers call by its
initials,) and it ran, in the crisp, breezy, style which makes that
sheet so popular:

"TURNING THE TABLES.

"Many a woman finds herself socially snuffed out by being wedded to a
luminary: she is Mr. Dash Blank's wife _et voila tout_. There have
been cases exactly opposite; but hist! They say the lady herself is
now touchy on the point. It cannot often have happened, however, that
the tables have been turned so neatly as in the case of the Hubert
Bretts. As a novelist, he has for a decade of years formed one of the
small and essentially select _coterie_ that largely exists, like the
ladies who lived on each other's washing, by patting one another's
backs. His reputation has been large, his notices extremely good; but
neither adjective would fit his sales. Any librarian (librarians, _en
passant_, are interesting men) could throw an odd light upon the
curious relations between

REVIEWS AND ROYALTIES

"Now mark the sequel. Pretty little Mrs. Hubert, bored with her
husband's neglect, indites a diary, which a keen-sighted publisher
gives to the world. Hey presto! as dear old 'Bertie' Zoda used to say
at the never-to-be-forgotten Pen-Pushers' Saturday nights (or were they
Sunday mornings? Tush!), in a moment all is changed. She sells fifty
copies to her husband's one; the book is in everybody's hands and
mouth; the next is eagerly awaited--and poor Hubert finds himself,
after all these years of manly efforts, as nothing more glorious than
Zoe Brett's husband. Rough luck, Bertie, very!"

With a feeling of almost physical sickness Helena realised how narrow
had been the escape. If he had read that, with his sister there----!
She tore it viciously across and across, until no hand could ever piece
it back to its vile self again. She felt the very action a relief.

In future, so long at any rate as Ruth was with them, she would open
and destroy all cuttings. They could refer to nothing but her book.
She went along and told the still impassive Lily to keep them all for
her. She waited, this done, for Ruth Brett's arrival with far more
complacency. At any rate her eyes weren't red....

It is typical of Hubert Brett's peculiar temperament that he had never
thou