e woman's grey eyes wore their startled look again, there was the pink
flag of distress on her cheeks.

"I--I cannot think of any of the questions I should ask," she said
chokingly. "I meant to have carefully studied other interviews; I did
not expect to have it so suddenly. Oh, what can you think of me for
wasting your time like this?" She made a motion as if to rise and go.
But Hugh waved her back to her chair.

"Possibly," he said with smoothest courtesy, "I may be able to help you.
It would be a pity to let such trifles prevent you from earning money. I
presume you will be paid for this?"

"Oh yes," said Miss Bibby, "I am offered six guineas for it."

"Ah! And you need the money?"

"Well, I am not actually in want of it," said Miss Bibby, "but----"

"But you could do with it, I see; most people can, can't they? Well, let
us get on. You want to know all about my private life, don't you?"

"Oh," said Miss Bibby, shocked. "I should not like to intrude like that.
Just simple questions, I--I think they generally ask where you were
born."

"No, no," said Hugh; "you haven't studied the question, it's plain. The
public don't care a hang nowadays where or how or when a man's born.
What they want to do is to lift the curtain suddenly from his home and
see him going through the common round of his daily life. By George,
wouldn't they like to catch him beating his wife! A glimpse like that
would make an interviewer's fortune. 'Pon my soul, Miss Bibby, I'd give
you the chance--you are so indefatigable--if I had such a thing as a
wife."

Miss Bibby laughed nervously,

"I--I think they like to know about an author's methods of work," she
said, "if you would be so very kind."

"Certainly, certainly," said Hugh. "I rather pride myself upon my
methods, now you come to mention it. I don't believe there's an author
extant or underground with similar. See this card?" He rummaged on his
table for Kate's neatly-typed little memorandum.

"Yes?" said Miss Bibby breathlessly.

"That's my daily allowance, two hundred words. Couldn't sleep a wink if
it were a hundred and ninety-nine. Pull myself up sharp even in the
middle of a speech if I find I'm likely to make it two hundred and one."

"How very interesting!" said Miss Bibby, scribbling hard. "A whole day,
polishing two hundred words! No wonder the critics speak of your crystal
style, Mr. Kinross. It reminds me of what I have read of Flaubert's
methods."

"Then," said Hug