ucceeding at length, he found a letter in the publisher's own writing,
and the first word that caught his attention was 'regret.' With an angry
effort to command himself he ran through the communication, then held it
out to Amy.

She read, and her countenance fell. Mr Jedwood regretted that the story
offered to him did not seem likely to please that particular public to
whom his series of one-volume novels made appeal. He hoped it would
be understood that, in declining, he by no means expressed an adverse
judgment on the story itself &c.

'It doesn't surprise me,' said Reardon. 'I believe he is quite right.
The thing is too empty to please the better kind of readers, yet not
vulgar enough to please the worse.'

'But you'll try someone else?'

'I don't think it's much use.'

They sat opposite each other, and kept silence. Jedwood's letter slipped
from Amy's lap to the ground.

'So,' said Reardon, presently, 'I don't see how our plan is to be
carried out.'

'Oh, it must be!'

'But how?'

'You'll get seven or eight pounds from The Wayside. And--hadn't we
better sell the furniture, instead of--'

His look checked her.

'It seems to me, Amy, that your one desire is to get away from me, on
whatever terms.'

'Don't begin that over again!' she exclaimed, fretfully. 'If you don't
believe what I say--'

They were both in a state of intolerable nervous tension. Their voices
quivered, and their eyes had an unnatural brightness.

'If we sell the furniture,' pursued Reardon, 'that means you'll never
come back to me. You wish to save yourself and the child from the hard
life that seems to be before us.'

'Yes, I do; but not by deserting you. I want you to go and work for us
all, so that we may live more happily before long. Oh, how wretched this
is!'

She burst into hysterical weeping. But Reardon, instead of attempting to
soothe her, went into the next room, where he sat for a long time in
the dark. When he returned Amy was calm again; her face expressed a cold
misery.

'Where did you go this morning?' he asked, as if wishing to talk of
common things.

'I told you. I went to buy those things for Willie.'

'Oh yes.'

There was a silence.

'Biffen passed you in Tottenham Court Road,' he added.

'I didn't see him.'

'No; he said you didn't.'

'Perhaps,' said Amy, 'it was just when I was speaking to Mr Milvain.'

'You met Milvain?'

'Yes.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I'm sure I don't know. I can