.
What do you think I'm writing just now? An author's Guide. You know the
kind of thing; they sell splendidly. Of course I shall make it a good
advertisement of my business. Then I have a splendid idea. I'm going to
advertise: "Novel-writing taught in ten lessons!" What do you think
of that? No swindle; not a bit of it. I am quite capable of giving the
ordinary man or woman ten very useful lessons. I've been working out the
scheme; it would amuse you vastly, Reardon. The first lesson deals with
the question of subjects, local colour--that kind of thing. I gravely
advise people, if they possibly can, to write of the wealthy middle
class; that's the popular subject, you know. Lords and ladies are all
very well, but the real thing to take is a story about people who have
no titles, but live in good Philistine style. I urge study of horsey
matters especially; that's very important. You must be well up, too,
in military grades, know about Sandhurst, and so on. Boating is an
important topic. You see? Oh, I shall make a great thing of this. I
shall teach my wife carefully, and then let her advertise lessons to
girls; they'll prefer coming to a woman, you know.'

Biffen leant back and laughed noisily.

'How much shall you charge for the course?' asked Reardon.

'That'll depend. I shan't refuse a guinea or two; but some people may be
made to pay five, perhaps.'

Someone knocked at the door, and a voice said:

'A letter for you, Mr Whelpdale.'

He started up, and came back into the room with face illuminated.

'Yes, it's from Birmingham; posted this morning. Look what an exquisite
hand she writes!'

He tore open the envelope. In delicacy Reardon and Biffen averted their
eyes. There was silence for a minute, then a strange ejaculation from
Whelpdale caused his friends to look up at him. He had gone pale, and
was frowning at the sheet of paper which trembled in his hand.

'No bad news, I hope?' Biffen ventured to say.

Whelpdale let himself sink into a chair.

'Now if this isn't too bad!' he exclaimed in a thick voice. 'If
this isn't monstrously unkind! I never heard anything so gross as
this--never!'

The two waited, trying not to smile.

'She writes--that she has met an old lover--in Birmingham--that it was
with him she had quarrelled-not with her father at all--that she ran
away to annoy him and frighten him--that she has made it up again, and
they're going to be married!'

He let the sheet fall, and looked so