of one
already, and I'm only waiting for a holiday to finish it. And it's not
bad--no, some of it's really rather nice."

The question arose in Denham's mind whether he should ask to see this
play, as, no doubt, he was expected to do. He looked rather stealthily
at Rodney, who was tapping the coal nervously with a poker, and
quivering almost physically, so Denham thought, with desire to talk
about this play of his, and vanity unrequited and urgent. He seemed very
much at Denham's mercy, and Denham could not help liking him, partly on
that account.

"Well,... will you let me see the play?" Denham asked, and Rodney looked
immediately appeased, but, nevertheless, he sat silent for a moment,
holding the poker perfectly upright in the air, regarding it with his
rather prominent eyes, and opening his lips and shutting them again.

"Do you really care for this kind of thing?" he asked at length, in a
different tone of voice from that in which he had been speaking. And,
without waiting for an answer, he went on, rather querulously: "Very few
people care for poetry. I dare say it bores you."

"Perhaps," Denham remarked.

"Well, I'll lend it you," Rodney announced, putting down the poker.

As he moved to fetch the play, Denham stretched a hand to the bookcase
beside him, and took down the first volume which his fingers touched.
It happened to be a small and very lovely edition of Sir Thomas Browne,
containing the "Urn Burial," the "Hydriotaphia," and the "Garden of
Cyrus," and, opening it at a passage which he knew very nearly by heart,
Denham began to read and, for some time, continued to read.

Rodney resumed his seat, with his manuscript on his knee, and from
time to time he glanced at Denham, and then joined his finger-tips and
crossed his thin legs over the fender, as if he experienced a good deal
of pleasure. At length Denham shut the book, and stood, with his back to
the fireplace, occasionally making an inarticulate humming sound which
seemed to refer to Sir Thomas Browne. He put his hat on his head, and
stood over Rodney, who still lay stretched back in his chair, with his
toes within the fender.

"I shall look in again some time," Denham remarked, upon which Rodney
held up his hand, containing his manuscript, without saying anything
except--"If you like."

Denham took the manuscript and went. Two days later he was much
surprised to find a thin parcel on his breakfast-plate, which, on being
opened, revealed th