eupon the deprecatory wave of
Sylvanus Creed's white and jewelled hand made me feel (or pretend to
feel) a low fellow for my pains. I gathered that on our return to the
sumptuously appointed studio from which my host directed the destinies
of his publishing house, one of his secretaries of state would submit
to me a specimen of the regulation agreement for the publication of
first books.

That airy mention of 'first books' caused a chill presentiment to
pierce the ambrosial fumes by which I was surrounded. The transaction
was to bring me no particular profit, I thought. Well, the luncheon
had been superfine. The format of Sylvanus Creed's books was
indubitably pleasing to hand and eye. And, true enough, it was a
'first book.' Money, after all--and particularly after such a
luncheon ...

But I will say that in subsequently signing the daintily embossed
agreement (subtly perfumed, I thought, like the letter paper) I was
blissfully ignorant of the fact that it also gave Mr. Sylvanus Creed
my second book, whatever that might prove to be, upon the same
exiguous terms. The fault was wholly mine, of course. There was the
agreement (in the most elegant sort of copper-plate script) quite open
for my perusal. I fancy, perhaps, the Court Club's liqueurs were even
more agreeably potent than its wines. I know it seemed absurdly
curmudgeonly that I should think of wading through the document, and
while Sylvanus's own fair hand held a pen waiting for me, too. And,
indeed, I do not in the least grudge that signature now.

And thus, with every circumstance of artistic fitness and ease, I was
committed to authorship. The second floor back in Camden Town looked a
shade dingy after my publisher's sanctum; but I carried a couple of
gift copies of the _Fin de siecle_ books in my hand, and my own
effusions were to form the fifth volume of the series. With such news
I clearly was justified in bidding Sidney Heron take his dinner with
us that night. Fanny rather cooled about the great event, when its
monetary insignificance was made partially clear to her. But she
enjoyed the little dinner with Heron; and, as a matter of fact, we
were doing rather well in the monetary way just then, though hardly
well enough to enable me to rent a third room for use as study.

I found that sovereigns had somehow shrunken and lost much of their
magic in Fanny's hands with the passage of time. At the time of our
marriage, I had been agreeably surprised to le