y and musical world. His
previous novel, 'The Corrupter,' published two years before
'Ashes,' had a distinct artistic success; but the great
popularity of his later book was as remarkable as it was
unexpected and unsought. Adrian Grant is essentially a writer
for art's sake, and not for so much per thousand words."

Henry doubted the evidence of his eyes as he read the startling news.
The journal in which the paragraph appeared, and the _chroniqueur_
responsible for it, were noted for the authoritative character of their
information, and he knew that such a statement could not have been made
so deliberately unless it were true to the facts. The very misspelling
of the name was in its favour. There were queer names in England, but
Mr. P.'s was especially odd, and even wrongly spelt it retained its
peculiarity. Still, it was a tremendous strain on his mind to accept the
statement as accurate. Never, so far as he could remember, had Mr. P.
given him cause to couple his name with that of the author of "Ashes,"
but after the first shock of surprise, he began to recall how warmly his
reticent friend had defended the book on the evening when they first
met. It must be true, and now his wonder was that "Adrian Grant"--he
began to think of him under the more euphonious name--could have
suppressed "the natural man," which is in every author and prides him on
the work of his pen. The mysterious Mr. P. had deepened in mystery; the
more Henry's acquaintance with him progressed, the less he knew him.

Henry was tempted to make a paragraph out of this newly acquired
information, and to add thereto some references of a local nature which
would have been widely quoted from the _Leader_. But he had second
thoughts that the subject of the paragraph would not be pleased, and
heroically he restrained himself, avoiding all mention of the matter.
The ordinary person who has no means other than word of mouth for
advertising abroad some choice bit of gossip that has come his way, can
but vaguely estimate the personal restraint which the journalist
possessed of a tit-bit of news must exercise in keeping the information
to himself. It is the journalist's business to blab, and he is as
fidgety as a woman with a secret. Henry, however, had the consolation
that perhaps after all the statement might not be correct. There were
frequent cases of coincidence in the most absurd cognomens.

He had to nurse his mystery for the remaind