as not in the kitchen.

She mounted the stairs and tapped at the door of Palmerston's attic
chamber.

"Hullo!" said she looking in, "what's become of Geraldine?"
(Mrs Bowldler's Christian name was Sarah, but the two children vied in
inventing others more suitable to her gentility).

"If by Geraldine you mean Herm-Intrude," said Palmerston, sitting up in
bed and grinning, "she's out in the grounds, picking--"

"Culling," corrected Fancy. "Her own word."

"Well then--culling lamb mint."

"I should ha' thought sage-an'-onions was the stuffin' relied on by this
establishment."

"Seasonin'," corrected Palmerston. "But what have _you_ been doin' all
this time?"

"My dear, don't ask!" Fancy seated herself at the foot of the bed.
"If you _must_ know, I've been playin' Meddlesome Matty life-size. . . .
These grown-ups are all so _helpless_--the men especially! . . .
Feelin' better?"

"Heaps. 'Tis foolishness, keepin' me in bed like this, and I wish
you'd tell her so. _I'm_ all right--'xcept in my mind."

"What's wrong with your mind?"

"'Shamed o' myself: that's all--but it's bad enough."

"There's no call to be ashamed. You did it in absence o' mind, and all
the best authors have suffered from that. It's well known."

"To go through what I did," said Palmerston bitterly, "just to bring up
two-an'-nine! 'Tis such a waste of material!"

"That's one way of puttin' it, to be sure."

"I mean, for a book--for' Pickerley.' I s'pose there's not one man in a
thousand--not one liter'y man, anyhow--has suffered anything like it.
And I can't put it into the book!"

"No," agreed Fancy meditatively. "I don't suppose you could: not in
'Pickerley' anyhow. You couldn' make your 'ero swallow anything under a
di'mund tiyara, and that's not easy."

"I'll have to write the next one about low life," said Palmerston.
"If only I knew a bit more about it! Mrs Bowldler says it can be
rendered quite amusin', and I wouldn' mind makin' myself the 'ero."

"Wouldn't you? Well, _I_ should, and don't you let me catch you at it!
The man as I marry'll have to keep his head up and show a proper respect
for his-self."

Poor Palmerston stared. The best women in the world will never
understand an artist.

CHAPTER XXV.

CAI RENOUNCES.

If this thing had happened--?

After Fancy left him Cai dropped into his armchair, and sat for a long
while staring at the paper ornament with which Mrs Bowldler had
decorated his sum