'I cannot hope to give you more than an occasional appearance in my columns. I should advise you, with this introduction of mine and the credentials of being published in my paper, to send verses to the magazines. I think you will have little difficulty with the help of my name in gaining admission. 'Allow me to add my congratulations on your brother's undoubted success. His play is admirable as a chamber play. It may also succeed on the stage, but of this it is impossible to be certain. Meantime, it is very cheering to find that he listens to the advice of those who have a right to speak, and that he follows that advice. It is both cheering to his friends and promising as regards his own future. I do not regret the time that I spent in advising upon that play. 'I remain, my dear Effie, very sincerely yours, 'ALEC FEILDING.' The paper which contained the verses contained also the following paragraph:-- 'In place of the usual editorial verses--my editorial duties do not always give me leisure for the service of the Muse--I have great pleasure in inserting a set of verses from the pen of a young lady whose name is new to my readers. She makes her bow to my readers in this column. I venture, however, to prophesy that she will not long remain unknown. Wherever the English language is spoken, before many years the name of Effie Wilmot shall be known and loved. This is the prophecy of one who at least can recognise good work when he sees it.' Effie read both letter and paragraph to her brother, who raged and stormed about the alleged advice and assistance. She also read them both to Armorel, who only laughed a little. 'But,' said Effie, 'he never helped Archie at all! He gave him no advice!' 'My dear, if he chooses to say that he did, what does it matter? Time goes on, and every day will make your brother rise higher and Mr. Feilding sink lower. And as to the verses, Effie, and your--your first appearance'--Effie turned away her shamefaced cheek--'why, we will take his advice and try other editors. Mr. Feilding is, indeed, the cleverest man in London!' CHAPTER XVII THE NATIONAL GALLERY Contrary to all reasonable expectation, Alec Feilding called at Armorel's rooms the very next morning--and quite early in the morning, when it was not yet eleven. Armorel, however, had already gone out. He was received by Mrs. Elstree, who was, as usual, sitting, apparently asleep, by the fire. 'You have come in the hope of seeing Armorel alone, I suppose?' she said. 'Yes. You remember, Zoe,' he replied quickly--she observed that he was pale, and that he fidgeted nervously, and that his eyes, restless and scared, looked as if somebody was hunting him--'that we had a talk about it. You said you wouldn't make a row. You know you did. You consented.'