They were silent for a little. He was feeling unhappy and, curiously enough, frightened. He would have liked to jump up suddenly and shout, “Well, what's going to happen now?”--not only to Norah Monogue, but to London, to all the world. The work at the book had, during these years, upheld him with a sense of purpose and aim. Now, feeling that that work was bad, his aim seemed wasted, his purpose gone. Here were seven years gone and he had done nothing--seen nothing, become nothing. What was his future to be? Where was he to go? What to do? He had reasoned blindly to himself during these years, that “Reuben Hallard” would make his fortune--now that seemed the very last thing it would do. “I knew what you're feeling,” she said, “now that the book's done, you're wondering what's coming next.” “It's more than that. I've been in London seven years. Instead of writing a novel that no one will want to read I might have been getting my foot in. I might at any rate have been learning London, finding my way about. Why,” he went on, excitedly, “do you know that, except for a walk or two and going into the gallery at Covent Garden once or twice and the Proms sometimes and meeting some people at Herr Gottfried's once or twice I've spent the whole of my seven years between here and the bookshop--” “You mustn't worry about that. It was quite the right thing to do. You must remember that there are two ways of learning things. First through all that every one has written, then through all that every one is doing. Up to now you've been studying the first of those two. Now you're ready to take part in all the hurly-burly, and you will. London will fling you into it as soon as you're ready, you can be sure.” “I've been awfully happy all this time,” he went on, reflectively. “Too happy I expect. I never thought about anything except reading and writing the book, and talking to you and Gottfried. Now things will begin I suppose.” “What kind of things?” “Oh, well, it isn't likely that I'm going to be let alone for ever. I've never told you, have I, about my life before I came up to London?” She hesitated a little before she answered. “No, you've never told me anything. I could see, of course, that it hadn't been easy.” “How could you see that?” “Well, it hadn't been easy for either of us. That made us friends. And then you don't look like a person who would take things easily--ever. Tell me about your early life before you came here,” Norah Monogue said.