all self-conscious, diffident, suspicious. Even
Vicary was affected. How thankful I was that my silent lover had not
come! My secret was my own--and his. And no one should surprise it unless
we chose. I cared nothing what they thought, or what they guessed, as
they filed out of the door, a brilliant procession of which I had the
right to be proud; they could not guess my secret. I was sufficiently
woman of the world to baffle them as long as I wished to baffle them.

Then I noticed that Mrs. Sardis had stayed behind; she was examining some
lustre ware in the further drawing-room.

'I'm afraid Jocelyn has gone without her mother,' I said,
approaching her.

'I have told Jocelyn to go home alone,' replied Mrs. Sardis. 'The
carriage will return for me. Dear friend, I want to have a little talk
with you. Do you permit?'

'I shall be delighted,' I said.

'You are sure you are well enough?'

'There is nothing whatever the matter with me,' I answered slowly and
distinctly. 'Come to the fire, and let us be comfortable. And I told
Emmeline Palmer, my companion and secretary, who just then appeared, that
she might retire to bed.

Mrs. Sardis was nervous, and this condition, so singular in Mrs. Sardis,
naturally made me curious as to the cause of it. But my eyes still
furtively wandered to the door.

'My dear co-worker,' she began, and hesitated.

'Yes,' I encouraged her.

She put her matron's lips together:

'You know how proud I am of your calling, and how jealous I am of its
honour and its good name, and what a great mission I think we novelists
have in the work of regenerating the world.'

I nodded. That kind of eloquence always makes me mute. It leaves nothing
to be said.

'I wonder,' Mrs. Sardis continued, 'if you have ever realized what a
power _you_ are in England and America to-day.'

'Power!' I echoed. 'I have done nothing but try to write as honestly and
as well as I could what I felt I wanted to write.'

'No one can doubt your sincerity, my dear friend,' Mrs. Sardis said. 'And
I needn't tell you that I am a warm admirer of your talent, and that I
rejoice in your success. But the tendency of your work--'

'Surely,' I interrupted her coldly, 'you are not taking the trouble to
tell me that my books are doing harm to the great and righteous
Anglo-Saxon public!'

'Do not let us poke fun at our public, my dear,' she protested. 'I
personally do not believe that your books are harmful, though their
origi