then at the parcel again. She was not the first embarrassed visitor
he had seen--nor the twenty-first.

"Shall I untie this for you?" he asked gently.

Phyllis nodded; she could not speak.

About twenty of the prettiest valentines were in the parcel. Mr.
Rowlandson laid them on a little table and looked through them quietly,
while Phyllis recovered her composure.

"May I see if I can save your feelings a little?" his pleasant voice
said finally. "Mrs. Farquharson has told me of your--your quarrel with
Sir Peter. A pity; a great pity. And so, perhaps I can guess the rest.
The profession of poetry, inspiring as it is, is not--not exactly
remunerative; not--not in a large way. No, I fancy the returns are not
what you would call--well, say, generous. Things are not going quite so
smoothly and easily for you as you--that is, as they should for two
young people who have just started life together. And so it occurred to
you that these old valentines might be sacri--sold, to help, a little."

He paused; Phyllis's handkerchief was at her eyes.

"Ah, yes," he added, "I feared that was it."

He gazed thoughtfully out of the window before he continued:--

"I am very sorry, my dear young lady. I am really very sorry. But I find
it necessary to confine my purchases strictly to books. My me! Yes,
strictly to books. If you had a few books, now, that you had ceased to
care for, I might allow you something eh?"

"I have only the valentines, Mr. Rowlandson" said Phyllis. "It was very
silly and wrong for me to come to you. I can see that now. Of course,
you only buy and sell books."

"Except when commissioned by customers," said Mr. Rowlandson. "An
invariable rule. If I could break it for any one, I--"

"You have been very kind," said Phyllis, rising. "So kind that I think I
cannot leave you under a misapprehension. Mr. Landless's income is quite
sufficient for our modest needs." A sudden thought made her heart beat
rapidly. "Oh, Mr. Rowlandson! You must not think he knows I am here!
Although, of course, I meant to tell him if--if I had been successful."

She hesitated again, and then, with a little appealing gesture, went
hurriedly on.

"I think I should be quite frank with you. Mr. Landless has a book of
poems--I mean--poems enough to make a book. But, although he has tried
everywhere, he cannot find a publisher who is willing to undertake his
little book. It is such a very little one, too. One firm of publishers
offered t