nd in a few months his work was not
only selling, but was actually in demand. Moreover, he had written a
novel, and, his luck still holding good, had placed it with the second
publisher to whom he offered it; but even that success had given him no
sense of elation; and, when he had come to read the proofs, he had found
himself wishing that he had put the manuscript into the fire. It was not
the book he had dreamed of doing, the book he had so often discussed
with Lalage. The doctor, who had also seen the proofs, thought highly of
it; the publisher was urging him to get on with another; but he,
himself, knew well that the book lacked something. He had been afraid to
give it life by drawing on his own experience. He had been so anxious
not to widen the breach with his family that he had ended by writing a
novel for Griersons. As Jimmy walked homewards after his meeting with
the doctor, he found himself wondering what Lalage would think of his
novel, whether she would feel pride, or grief, or contempt. Somehow,
although she had no part in his life now, he was more afraid of her
judgment than of that of anyone else. "Lalage's author," she had called
him in the old days, and she had always believed in him. "I know you
will write nice books for Lalage, by and by; because you're very, very
clever"--she had said so more than once, when he had seemed to be losing
heart over his work in the _Record_ office. And now he had written the
book--in which Lalage had had no part. Unconsciously, he quickened his
pace, as if to get away from the thought, and, perhaps for that reason,
he did not notice a motor-car which was coming up behind him. When the
horn was sounded, he merely drew into the hedge and did not look round.
The car passed him, slowly on account of a flock of sheep which was
coming out of a gate a little way ahead, and he noted, without the
slightest sense of interest, that there were a couple of well-dressed
women in the tonneau; consequently, he was greatly surprised when one of
the women called to the driver to stop, then looked back, and beckoned
excitedly to himself.

"Mr. Grierson, Mr. Grierson--Jimmy!" she cried.

As he came up, she raised the heavy veil she was wearing, and he found
himself looking into the laughing eyes of Ethel Grimmer.

CHAPTER XXIV

Mrs. Grimmer shook hands very cordially. "This is an unexpected
pleasure," she said. "Who would have dreamt of seeing you down here!"
then, without waiti