t had the
succulence of a piece of straw. He was in that state of mind when five
minutes of waiting is intolerable. He had to wait some twenty before
Mrs. Baxendale appeared. Only a clinging remnant of common-sense kept
him from addressing her sourly. Wilfrid was not eminently patient.

'Well, what counsel has sleep brought?' she asked, speaking as if she
had some other matter on her mind--as indeed she had--a slight
difficulty which had just arisen with the cook.

'I should not be much advanced if I had depended upon sleep,' Wilfrid
replied cheerlessly. Always sensitive, he was especially so at this
moment, and the lady seemed to him unsympathetic. He should have allowed
for the hour; matters involving sentiment should never be touched till
the day has grown to ripeness. The first thing in the morning a poet is
capable of mathematics.

'I fear you are not the only one who has not slept,' said Mrs.
Baxendale.

Wilfrid, after waiting in vain, went on in a tone very strange to him:

'I don't know what to do; I am incapable of thought. Another night like
the last will drive me mad. You tell me I must merely wait; but I cannot
be passive. What help is there? How can I kill the time?'

Mrs. Baxendale was visibly harder than on the previous evening. A
half-smile caused her to draw in her lips; she played with the
watch-chain at her girdle.

'I fear,' she said, 'we have done all that can be done. Naturally you
would find it intolerable to linger here.'

'I must return to London?'

'Under any other circumstances I should be the last to wish it, but I
suppose it is better that you should.'

He was prepared for the advice, but unreason strove in him desperately
against the facts of the situation. It was this impotent quarrel with
necessity which robbed him of his natural initiative and made Mrs.
Baxendale wonder at his unexpected feebleness. To him it seemed
something to stand his ground even for a few minutes. He could have
eased himself with angry speech. Remember that he had not slept, and
that his mind was sore with the adversary's blows.

'I understand your reluctance,' Mrs. Baxendale pursued. 'It's like a
surrendering of hope. But you know what I said last night; I could only
repeat the same things now. Don't be afraid; I will not.'

'Yes,' he murmured, 'I must go to London.'

'It would be far worse if you had no friend here. You shall hear from me
constantly. You have an assurance that the poor thing can't