She submitted gravely and coldly to the customary salute with which he greeted her, and led the way to the coffee-room, where breakfast lay ready for him. In the occasional presence of the waiting-girl, private conversation was impossible; so he rattled on in an agreeable manner about his experiences in London, giving brilliant sketches of the varied private and public entertainments in which he had participated. Nan listened with lady-like composure, putting in an occasional word; and when the meal was over they retired to the private parlour. They sat down opposite to each other, and then Anne commenced her invective. She pointed out that he had deliberately chosen literature as a profession, and having gained a slight success, was now idling away his time in London, among a set of people who could do him no good, and who were, she thought, but of very doubtful reputation. ‘Wrong there, Nan!’ he interrupted. ‘I admit I don’t quite move in the inner circle. Still the people I know seem to have plenty of money, and are respectable enough; and I find them useful. I meet with journalists among them, and have been able to dispose of a good many of my manuscripts. And you would notice I was staying for a few days with Sir Hew Crayton. Now, you know it does a literary man a deal of good—in public estimation—to be taken notice of by a baronet.’ ‘I am sorry to hear you talking in that way,’ she replied sadly, ‘for it shows me your vanity has got the better of your good sense. Do you not see it was entirely through your article appearing in the _Olympic_ that you got your rejected manuscripts disposed of? As for your baronet, I don’t think you need boast of him. He stayed with us for a month, four years ago, and left without paying his bill. Papa made inquiry about him, and found he made a swindling living by lending his name as director to bogus Limited Companies. Likely he would borrow money from you?’ Alfred was forced to admit that he had obliged him with a loan. ‘Now, Alfred,’ she continued gravely, ‘I have decidedly made up my mind that it would be better for us both that our engagement should come to an end. If you continue in the life you are leading, I have no hope for your future; but even if you were successful, I could never marry you. Doubtless, you would expect me to mix with your new friends; that I could never do—if they are like what you describe them—and certain unhappiness would be the result. It is well for us both I have come to know this in time.’ This was different sort of talk from what he had come to hear. It was tears and entreaties for their immediate union which he had expected. Still his vanity blinded him to the true import of her words. She had said she never could mix with his new friends; well, it was but proper modesty for her to say that. He would reassure her on that score, and all would be well yet.