impatience
to appear in print and become known; the thought of production induced
her to delay and do her utmost rather than to make indiscreet haste;
her delight was in the doing essentially; she was not one to glory in
public successes, however great, or find anything but a tepid
satisfaction therein compared to the warm delight that came when her
thoughts flowed, and the material world melted out of mind.

She had been busy with her book that afternoon, and very happy, until
tea came. Then, being somewhat tired, she got up from the bureau at
which she worked, and went to the tea-table, leaving her papers all
scattered about; and she was in the act of pouring herself out a cup
of tea, when the door opened, and the footman announced, "Mr. Alfred
Cayley Pounce."

Very much surprised, she put the teapot down deliberately and looked
at him. He held his hat to his breast, and bowed with exaggerated
deference, in an affected, foreign way.

"I insisted on seeing you," he began, as if that were something to
boast of. "Perhaps I ought to apologise."

Beth, not knowing what to say, asked him to sit down. Then there was a
little pause. He looked at the tea-table.

"I see that you do take tea," he observed. "Why did you refuse it when
I offered you some yesterday?"

"I am afraid I am not prepared to give you a reason," Beth answered
stiffly.

"Would it be out of place if I were to ask for some tea?" he said.

Beth silently poured him out a cup, and he got up, took what he
wanted in the way of sugar and cream and cake, and sat down again,
making himself very much at home.

"Do take some yourself," he pleaded. "You are making me feel such an
outsider."

"I beg your pardon," said Beth, helping herself.

She did not know whether to be annoyed or amused by his assurance. Had
she not known who he was she would certainly have been annoyed; but
the recollection of their days together, when the world was young and
life was all pure poetry, came upon her suddenly as she found
something of the boy in the face and voice of the man before her,
making it impossible for her to treat him as a stranger, and melting
her into a smile.

"Confess that you were surprised to see me," he said.

"I was," she answered.

"And not glad, perhaps," he pursued.

"Surprised means neither glad nor sorry," she observed.

"D'you know, the moment I saw you----" he began sentimentally; "but
never mind that now," he broke off. "Let me give you m