Kent laughed to himself in walking home; he had suspected the accuracy of the proud parents' statements already, just as he had suspected, when he had been invited to meet an operatic celebrity at The Hawthorns, who it was that sent the telegram of regrets and apologies that bore the star's name. He wondered how much the Walfords' foolishness and his pupil's vanity had been worth to the Italian singing-master, who gesticulated about the drawing-room and foretold such triumphs. When he re-entered No. 64, he was relieved to find the company cheerful again; they seemed even to be in high spirits, and the cause was promptly evident. Cynthia pointed radiantly to a letter lying on the table. "For you," she cried, "from Cousins! Be quick; we're all dying of impatience. How did you leave Aunt Emily?" "She's going to bed," he said, tearing the envelope open. His heart had leapt, and he trusted only that he wasn't destined to be damped by the suggested price. The others sat regarding him eagerly, waiting for him to speak. Cynthia tried to guess the amount by his expression. "Well?" said Mrs. Walford at last--"Well? What do they say?" Kent put the note down; all the colour had gone from his face. His lips twitched, and his voice was not under control as he answered. "They haven't accepted it," he said; "they're returning it to me. They don't think it good." "What?" she ejaculated. "Oh, Humphrey!" he heard Cynthia gasp; and then there were seconds in which he was conscious that everyone was staring at him, seconds in which he would have paid heavily to be in the room alone. That the book might be refused, after such reviews as had been written of his last, was a calamity that he had never contemplated, and he was overwhelmed. When he had been despondent he had imagined the publishers proposing to pay a couple of hundred pounds for it; when he had been gloomier still, he had fancied that the sum would be a hundred and fifty; in moments of profound depression he had even groaned, "I shan't get a shilling more for it than I did for the other one!" But to be rejected, "declined with thanks," was a shock for which he was wholly unprepared. It almost dazed him. "What do you mean?" demanded Sam Walford, breaking the silence angrily. "Not accepting it? But--but--this is a fine sort of thing! It takes you a year to write, and then they don't accept it. A damn good business _you_'re in, upon my word!" "Hush, Sam!" said Mrs. Walford. "What do they say? what reason do they give? Let me look!" Kent handed the letter to her mutely, his wife watching him with startled, pitying eyes, and she read it aloud: "'DEAR SIR, "'We are obliged by the kind offer of your MS., to which our most careful consideration has been given.'" "Been better if they'd considered it a little less!" grunted Walford.