even buying
his clothes out of it.'

'But he has told us so often that it's no use to him to live like that.
He is obliged to go to places where he must spend a little, or he makes
no progress.'

'Well, all I can say is,' exclaimed the girl impatiently, 'it's very
lucky for him that he's got a mother who willingly sacrifices her
daughters to him.'

'That's how you always break out. You don't care what unkindness you
say!'

'It's a simple truth.'

'Dora never speaks like that.'

'Because she's afraid to be honest.'

'No, because she has too much love for her mother. I can't bear to talk
to you, Maud. The older I get, and the weaker I get, the more unfeeling
you are to me.'

Scenes of this kind were no uncommon thing. The clash of tempers lasted
for several minutes, then Maud flung out of the room. An hour later, at
dinner-time, she was rather more caustic in her remarks than usual, but
this was the only sign that remained of the stormy mood.

Jasper renewed the breakfast-table conversation.

'Look here,' he began, 'why don't you girls write something? I'm
convinced you could make money if you tried. There's a tremendous sale
for religious stories; why not patch one together? I am quite serious.'

'Why don't you do it yourself,' retorted Maud.

'I can't manage stories, as I have told you; but I think you could. In
your place, I'd make a speciality of Sunday-school prize-books; you
know the kind of thing I mean. They sell like hot cakes. And there's so
deuced little enterprise in the business. If you'd give your mind to it,
you might make hundreds a year.'

'Better say "abandon your mind to it."'

'Why, there you are! You're a sharp enough girl. You can quote as well
as anyone I know.'

'And please, why am I to take up an inferior kind of work?'

'Inferior? Oh, if you can be a George Eliot, begin at the earliest
opportunity. I merely suggested what seemed practicable.

But I don't think you have genius, Maud. People have got that ancient
prejudice so firmly rooted in their heads--that one mustn't write save
at the dictation of the Holy Spirit. I tell you, writing is a business.
Get together half-a-dozen fair specimens of the Sunday-school prize;
study them; discover the essential points of such composition; hit upon
new attractions; then go to work methodically, so many pages a day.
There's no question of the divine afflatus; that belongs to another
sphere of life. We talk of literature as a trade,