Helena dreaded anything of this sort in front of his sister. She dreaded her visit entirely and hoped that it would not be long. Who could tell whether Ruth were not to be installed as her perpetual guardian, to watch over the wicked child? If so--but why make plans until things happened? The present was enough, and her chief wisdom lay in making the situation seem, to a third party, as easy as she could. She would _force_ Hugh to speak. There was a little fun in this idea, formed during lunch: and glancing across at his sullen face, with the too active mouth now tightly enough pressed, she only just restrained a laugh. It would have been the first during these ghastly and interminable meals. So soon as he had got up, with his horribly polite; "Finished?" and the usual sigh, she ran almost lightly to the baize-door and called Lily. "Lily," she asked, trying to compromise between an obvious whisper and a voice too audible, "were there any press-cuttings this morning?" "Yes, mum," answered the always respectful conspirator. "You kept them, I hope?" "Oh _yes_, mum,"--almost hurt. "Well, Lily," and she hesitated, the coward of Conscience; "I think I'll have them now and not to-night. Miss Brett will be here then." Lily retreated and came back with the small envelope. Her eyes glistened sympathetically in the half-darkness. Perhaps she guessed--but she knew her own favourite among the Bretts. Helena with that delicious thrill which makes crime so popular a hobby among those unable to afford sport or collecting, went into the drawing-room and boldly tore open the envelope addressed to "Hubert Brett, Esq." She did not want unpleasantness in front of Ruth. She spread the cutting out, to read. He had not published a book now for months, so it was certain to refer to hers. It did. It was from _People And Paragraphs_, (which its admirers call by its initials,) and it ran, in the crisp, breezy, style which makes that sheet so popular: "TURNING THE TABLES. "Many a woman finds herself socially snuffed out by being wedded to a luminary: she is Mr. Dash Blank's wife _et voila tout_. There have been cases exactly opposite; but hist! They say the lady herself is now touchy on the point. It cannot often have happened, however, that the tables have been turned so neatly as in the case of the Hubert Bretts. As a novelist, he has for a decade of years formed one of the small and essentially select _coterie_ that largely exists, like the ladies who lived on each other's washing, by patting one another's backs. His reputation has been large, his notices extremely good; but neither adjective would fit his sales. Any librarian (librarians, _en passant_, are interesting men) could throw an odd light upon the curious relations between REVIEWS AND ROYALTIES