keyed up than he! Mr. Bousefield says that of course
he wanted things that were suggestive and clever, things that he could
point to with pride. But he contends that Ray didn't allow for human
weakness. He gave everything in too stiff doses."

Sensibly, I fear, to my neighbour I winced at her words; I felt a prick
that made me meditate. Then I said: "Is that, by chance, the way he
gave _me?_" Mrs. Highmore remained silent so long that I had somehow the
sense of a fresh pang; and after a minute, turning in my seat, I laid my
hand on her arm, fixed my eyes upon her face and pursued pressingly:
"Do you suppose it to be to my 'Occasional Remarks' that Mr. Bousefield
refers?"

At last she met my look. "Can you bear to hear it?"

"I think I can bear anything now."

"Well then, it was really what I wanted to give you an inkling of. It's
largely over you that they've quarrelled. Mr. Bousefield wants him to
chuck you."

I grabbed her arm again. "And Limbert _won't?_"

"He seems to cling to you. Mr. Bousefield says no magazine can afford
you."

I gave a laugh that agitated the very coachman. "Why, my dear lady, has
he any idea of my price?"

"It isn't your price--he says you're dear at any price; you do so much
to sink the ship. Your 'Remarks' are called 'Occasional,' but nothing
could be more deadly regular: you're there month after month and you're
never anywhere else. And you supply no public want."

"I supply the most delicious irony."

"So Ray appears to have declared. Mr. Bousefield says that's not in the
least a public want. No one can make out what you're talking about and
no one would care if he could. I'm only quoting _him_, mind."

"Quote, quote--if Limbert holds out. I think I must leave you now,
please: I must rush back to express to him what I feel."

"I'll drive you to his door. That isn't all," said Mrs. Highmore. And on
the way, when the carriage had turned, she communicated the rest.
"Mr. Bousefield really arrived with an ultimatum: it had the form of
something or other by Minnie Meadows."

"Minnie Meadows?" I was stupefied.

"The new lady-humourist every one is talking about. It's the first of
a series of screaming sketches for which poor Ray was to find a place."
"Is _that_ Mr. Bousefield's idea of literature?" "No, but he says it's
the public's, and you've got to take _some_ account of the public. _Aux
grands maux les grands remedes_. They had a tremendous lot of ground to
make up, and no on