Of course, what he should have liked to show was a wholly admirable woman: one who combined all the sane competence and human worth of the best new women, with the soft faculty for supplying beauty and charm of her old-fashioned sister. But that day in Mary's office had left him with the honest suspicion that such a goddess did not exist, and couldn't. From the other direction also, as noted, his delicate scales had been joggled, with unsettling literary effects. The too hasty manuscript on the writing-table by no means followed the "line" the author had first plotted, prior to his meditations in the Green Park, after the bridge-party. No, in this draft the Home-Maker was married and had three children in Chapter One. Through all, the desire to rebuke the egoism of the day had persisted, as clearly the point of view most inviting to him, fullest of possibilities. And now Miss Trevenna, in some way, had disturbed and unsettled him there too.... The rain beat against the Studio windows. The green-shaded lamp burned dully on the author's table. Big Bill, without surcease, ticked off the author's minutes. Charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, pondering deeply. Just now, as he turned the pages of his private book--where the essay form had long since been abandoned, where appeared the most surprising vacillations of authoritative opinion--he had made a somewhat striking discovery. It had suddenly come upon him that "Notes on Women" had, gradually but distinctly, dwindled down into "Notes on Mary," "Notes on Angela Flower," and "Notes on Flora Trevenna." In short, it appeared that, in the most unconscious way, he had been seeking to extract his "line" from his own story, as it were, from "life." The discovery came upon the young man as most arresting and significant. "And I don't know where I stand, that's just the trouble! I ought to wait awhile," he thought, aloud. "See how it all works out.... Things'll be turning up...." On which--once more--Judge Blenso's picturesque head came sticking through the Studio door, and Judge Blenso's rich voice said, officially:-- "Young gentleman here with a letter, Mr. Garrott. Admit him?" Returning to actuality with a slight start, Charles replied, "Admit him--certainly!" A day for letters, indeed! Forthwith, the Judge standing aside, the young gentleman stepped into the Studio. A grave-looking young gentleman he proved to be, of some sixteen years, perhaps, with a dome-like forehead, a resolute mouth, and thick spectacles. He entered in silence, in silence held out the missive referred to. "Good-evening," said Charles. "Thank you. This comes from--?" "My sister, Angela Flower." The young man's heart seemed to drop a little. "Ah, yes! And--ah--is there--an answer?--" "I'll wait and see," said Wallie Flower, following instructions, in a deep, calm voice. "Ah, yes. Sit down a moment, won't you?"