was strong; it was militant under
its pathos and its renunciation. With such a look Rose would have faced
gates of death closing between her and Tanqueray.

So Jane realized Rose.

And she said to herself, "What a good thing Tanks never did care for me.
It would be awful if I made her more uncertain of him."

At this moment Tanqueray said, "How's Hambleby?"

"He's not quite so well as he was," said Jane.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Tanqueray.

"Is anybody ill?" said Rose. She was always interested in anybody who
was ill.

"Only Hambleby," said Tanqueray.

"Who's he?" said Rose.

"The man Jinny's in love with."

Rose was shocked at this violation of the holy privacies. She looked
reprovingly at Tanqueray.

"Is your tea as you like it?" she inquired, with tact, to make it more
comfortable for Jane.

"I'm going to smoke," said Tanqueray. "Will you come to my den, Jinny,
and talk about Hambleby?"

Rose looked as if positively she couldn't believe her ears. But it was
at Jane that she looked, not at Tanqueray.

"No," said Jinny. "I don't want to talk about Hambleby. I want to talk
to your wife."

"You mustn't mind what 'e says," said Rose, when they were alone
together. "'E sometimes says things to me that make me fair jump."

"I didn't jump," said Jane, "did I?"

"No. You took it a deal better than I should have done."

It was odd, but Rose was ten times more at her ease since Tanqueray's
awful reference to Hambleby. And she seemed happier, too.

"You see," said Jane, "there wasn't much to take. Hambleby's only a man
in a book I'm writing."

"Oh--only a man in a book."

Rose looked depressed. There was a silence which even Jane found it
difficult to break. Then she had an inspiration.

"I'm supposed to be in love with him because I can't think or talk about
anything else."

"That's just like Mr. Tanqueray," said Rose.

"Only he isn't in love with the people in his books," said Jane.

"He must think a deal of 'em."

"He says he doesn't."

"Well--'e's always thinkin' when he isn't writin'."

There was trouble on Rose's face.

"Miss 'Olland--'ow many hours do _you_ sit at it?"

"Oh, it depends."

"'E's sittin' all day sometimes, and 'arf the night. And my fear is,"
said Rose, "'e'll injure 'is brain."

"It will take a good deal to injure it. It's very tough. He'll leave off
when he's tired."

"He hasn't left off for months and months."

Her trouble deepened.

"Did 'e always