The other did not pursue the conversation, but the next time that Humphrey saw Mrs. Walford she told him that his father-in-law was very much incensed against him for his ingratitude. "It is sometimes advisable for a man to change his business," she said. "A man goes into one business, and if it doesn't pay he tries another. Your father-in-law is much older than you, and--er--naturally more experienced. I think you ought to listen to his opinion with more respect. Especially under the circumstances." "Oh?" he murmured. "Have you said that to Cynthia?" "No; it is not necessary to say it to anybody but you. And it might make her unhappy. She is troubled enough without!" She had, as a matter of fact, said it to her with much eloquence the previous afternoon. "And another thing," she continued: "I am bound to say I don't see any grounds for your believing--er--er--that your profession has any prizes in store for you, even if you could afford to remain in it. You mustn't mind my speaking plainly, Humphrey. You are a young man, and--er--you have no one to advise you, and you may thank me for it one day." "Let me thank you now," he said, fighting to conceal his rage. "If you can," she said; "if you feel it, I am very glad. You see what you have done: you wrote a book, which you got very little for--some nice reviews"--she smiled meaningly--"which we needn't talk about. And then you spend a year on another, which nobody wants. To succeed as a novelist, one must have a very strong gift; there is no doubt about it. A novelist must be very brilliant to do any good to-day--very brilliant. He wants--er--to know the world--to know the world, and--er--oh, he must be very polished--very smart!" "I see," he said shakily, as she paused. "You don't think I've the necessary qualifications?" "You have aptitude," she said; "you have a certain aptitude, of course, but to make it your profession----So many young men, who have been educated, could write a novel. _You_ happen to have done it; others haven't had the time. They open a business, or go on the Stock Exchange, or perhaps they haven't the patience. I'm afraid your publishers did you a mistaken kindness by those unfortunate reviews." "How do you mean?" he asked. "Yes, the reviewers didn't agree with you, did they?" She smiled again, and waved her hands expressively. "Oh, they were very pretty, very nice to have; but--er--newspaper notices do not take us in. Naturally, they were paid for. Cousins arranged with the papers for all that." "With----" He looked at her open-mouthed, as the names of some of the papers recurred to him. "With them all," she said. "Oh yes! You must remember we are quite behind the scenes." "Pincocca," he said musingly. "Yes, you knew Pincocca. But he was a singing-master, and he doesn't come here now."