ouncement
of their ejection from the _Beacon_, and dimly, confusedly the same
explanation was in the air. This time however I had been on my guard;
I had had my suspicion. "He has made it too flippant?" I found breath
after an instant to inquire.

Mrs. Highmore's vacuity exceeded my own. "Too 'flippant'? He has made it
too oracular. Mr. Bousefield says he has killed it." Then perceiving my
stupefaction: "Don't you know what has happened?" she pursued; "isn't it
because in his trouble, poor love, he has sent for you that you've come?
You've heard nothing at all? Then you had better know before you see
them. Get in here with me--I'll take you a turn and tell you." We were
close to the Park, the Regent's, and when with extreme alacrity I had
placed myself beside her and the carriage had begun to enter it she went
on: "It was what I feared, you know. It reeked with culture. He keyed it
up too high."

I felt myself sinking in the general collapse. "What are you talking
about?"

"Why, about that beastly magazine. They're all on the streets. I shall
have to take mamma."

I pulled myself together. "What on earth then did Bousefield want? He
said he wanted intellectual power."

"Yes, but Ray overdid it."

"Why, Bousefield said it was a thing he _couldn't_ overdo."

"Well, Ray managed: he took Mr. Bousefield too literally. It appears
the thing has been doing dreadfully, but the proprietor couldn't say
anything, because he had covenanted to leave the editor quite free. He
describes himself as having stood there in a fever and seen his ship go
down. A day or two ago the year was up, so he could at last break out.
Maud says he did break out quite fearfully; he came to the house and let
poor Ray have it. Ray gave it to him back; he reminded him of his own
idea of the way the cat was going to jump."

I gasped with dismay. "Has Bousefield abandoned that idea? Isn't the cat
going to jump?"

Mrs. Highmore hesitated. "It appears that she doesn't seem in a
hurry. Ray at any rate has jumped too far ahead of her. He should have
temporised a little, Mr. Bousefield says; but I'm beginning to think,
you know," said my companion, "that Ray _can't_ temporise." Fresh
from my emotions of the previous twenty-four hours I was scarcely in a
position to disagree with her. "He published too much pure thought."

"Pure thought?" I cried. "Why, it struck me so often--certainly in a due
proportion of cases--as pure drivel!"

"Oh, you're more