He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. Grudgingly he admired her. She breathed deeply. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. . '—'Pretty well,' says I; 'you're not badly off at the Friars, for that matter. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
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