In his absence on one of his long walks, she visited his study and turned over his papers. But he had left accessible no written word of his own, and Basil Everman's manuscript lay safely in Dr. Lister's desk drawer, awaiting Mrs. Lister's decision. She slipped out of their envelopes several letters, but found only a few small bills for books. Neither an invitation to write an article in exchange for a hundred dollars nor an actual check for ten dollars appeared. She frowned and for several days said less than usual. Then, Dr. Scott's preoccupation increasing, she pleaded general weariness and a severe headache and stayed in bed. In the evening Dr. Scott went to sit for an hour in her room. She lay high on her pillows with a flutter of lace and ribbons about her, and he sat by the window, a pleasant breeze fanning him, a young moon smiling at him over the shoulder of the Lister house. The Lister house was dark and somber in the deep shadow and its almost sinister appearance might have warned him to keep its secrets. But he was not warned. Mrs. Scott talked about his work, about the drudgery of the classroom, about the dull boys and girls upon whom he wasted so many weary hours, about the pittance he received. She wished for him leisure, larger pay, opportunities such as he deserved. "It is all you need to bring you out. I get angry at the conditions under which you slave in this dull town when you might take a high place elsewhere and become famous." "You rate me highly, my dear," said Dr. Scott. Nevertheless he smiled. "No, I don't," contradicted Mrs. Scott. "Here is Mrs. Lister's brother writing a few things and dull things at that, and having his name heralded through the whole world; and here is Eleanor Bent, a nobody, with her name in every one's mouth." Dr. Scott looked out of the window. He had suffered--and blushed with shame for it--acute envy of Eleanor and her youth. "You could do so much better! You are older and more learned and you have had more experience and more outlook on the world." Dr. Scott glanced back into the room. His eyes settled themselves on the figure on the bed. If he could have seen Mrs. Scott clearly, he would have recalled the disillusioning years between his wedding day and this moment. But he saw in the dusk only the motion of a hand which seemed to brush away a tear. This was the wife of his bosom, a part of himself! "I am to have an enviable opportunity," said he slowly. "The Listers have asked me--that is, Dr. Lister has asked me--to edit and prepare for publication the works of Mrs. Lister's brother, Basil Everman." "You mean that story and those other things!" Mrs. Scott's voice was flat, disappointed, angry. "Those and many equally valuable compositions which have accidentally come to light after many years."