they lacked local colour. Their interest
was almost purely psychological. It was clear that the author had no
faculty for constructing a story, and that pictures of active life were
not to be expected of him; he could never appeal to the multitude.
But strong characterisation was within his scope, and an intellectual
fervour, appetising to a small section of refined readers, marked all
his best pages.

He was the kind of man who cannot struggle against adverse conditions,
but whom prosperity warms to the exercise of his powers. Anything
like the cares of responsibility would sooner or later harass him into
unproductiveness. That he should produce much was in any case out of the
question; possibly a book every two or three years might not prove too
great a strain upon his delicate mental organism, but for him to attempt
more than that would certainly be fatal to the peculiar merit of his
work. Of this he was dimly conscious, and, on receiving his legacy, he
put aside for nearly twelve months the new novel he had begun. To give
his mind a rest he wrote several essays, much maturer than those which
had formerly failed to find acceptance, and two of these appeared in
magazines.

The money thus earned he spent--at a tailor's. His friend Carter
ventured to suggest this mode of outlay.

His third book sold for fifty pounds. It was a great improvement on its
predecessors, and the reviews were generally favourable. For the story
which followed, 'On Neutral Ground,' he received a hundred pounds. On
the strength of that he spent six months travelling in the South of
Europe.

He returned to London at mid-June, and on the second day after his
arrival befell an incident which was to control the rest of his life.
Busy with the pictures in the Grosvenor Gallery, he heard himself
addressed in a familiar voice, and on turning he was aware of Mr Carter,
resplendent in fashionable summer attire, and accompanied by a young
lady of some charms. Reardon had formerly feared encounters of this
kind, too conscious of the defects of his attire; but at present there
was no reason why he should shirk social intercourse. He was passably
dressed, and the half-year of travel had benefited his appearance in
no slight degree. Carter presented him to the young lady, of whom the
novelist had already heard as affianced to his friend.

Whilst they stood conversing, there approached two ladies, evidently
mother and daughter, whose attendant was anothe