l just take another room in this house,
that's all. I think I can count upon an income of a couple of guineas
a week, and I have plans without end that are pretty sure to bring in
coin.'

Reardon did not care to smoke, but Biffen lit his pipe and waited with
grave interest for the romantic narrative. Whenever he heard of a poor
man's persuading a woman to share his poverty he was eager of details;
perchance he himself might yet have that heavenly good fortune.

'Well,' began Whelpdale, crossing his legs and watching a wreath he had
just puffed from the cigar, 'you know all about my literary advisership.
The business goes on reasonably well. I'm going to extend it in ways
I'll explain to you presently. About six weeks ago I received a letter
from a lady who referred to my advertisements, and said she had the
manuscript of a novel which she would like to offer for my opinion. Two
publishers had refused it, but one with complimentary phrases, and she
hoped it mightn't be impossible to put the thing into acceptable shape.
Of course I wrote optimistically, and the manuscript was sent to me.

Well, it wasn't actually bad--by Jove! you should have seen some of
the things I have been asked to recommend to publishers! It wasn't
hopelessly bad by any means, and I gave serious thought to it. After
exchange of several letters I asked the authoress to come and see me,
that we might save postage stamps and talk things over. She hadn't
given me her address: I had to direct to a stationer's in Bayswater. She
agreed to come, and did come. I had formed a sort of idea, but of course
I was quite wrong. Imagine my excitement when there came in a
very beautiful girl, a tremendously interesting girl, about
one-and-twenty--just the kind of girl that most strongly appeals to
me; dark, pale, rather consumptive-looking, slender--no, there's no
describing her; there really isn't! You must wait till you see her.'

'I hope the consumption was only a figure of speech,' remarked Biffen in
his grave way.

'Oh, there's nothing serious the matter, I think. A slight cough, poor
girl.'

'The deuce!' interjected Reardon.

'Oh, nothing, nothing! It'll be all right. Well, now, of course we
talked over the story--in good earnest, you know. Little by little I
induced her to speak of herself--this, after she'd come two or three
times--and she told me lamentable things. She was absolutely alone in
London, and hadn't had sufficient food for weeks; had sold