She could not trust herself to any comment. She felt that probably all writers had these affectations, and yet there _was_ this sudden lack of sympathy about the candlesticks.... "But I hope," she merely said, "the new book's working out all right?" Hubert dropped upon the sofa, a dead weight of hopelessness. "I don't believe," he said, "I'm meant for an author--not in these days anyhow, when it's a trade. You know, my dear, it's too absurd but I can _not_ forget those beastly critics! They've put me off entirely. Every line I write, I think that such and such a paper won't like that: just as though I was writing for them and not for the public!" He took up a magazine and flung it down violently on the sofa. "I tell you though," he said confidently, as though that changed his mood, and rose to go: "I jolly well mean to get at the public, _this_ time." "Hugh," she said, ludicrously horror-struck, "it's not another pot-boiler?" She had not dared to ask and he had vouchsafed literally nothing yet. He smiled grimly, standing by the door. "You'll see," he said. "I'm nearly through with the synopsis now and I'll read you the first chapter soon. It's not like the last, anyhow. It's called _Eternity_. And there's one thing," he went on with a kind of brutal joy, "if it's a frost, we shall absolutely have to pack up and move off into cheaper quarters: I can't afford to keep you here!" "But, Hugh," she began in sympathetic protest. But he had closed the door, outside. CHAPTER XVII THE TEMPTER Helena did not possess the vice of introspection. Conscious as she was that something had changed in her attitude towards her husband's moods and work, those tyrants of her married life to which till now she had bowed down so humbly, she told herself in a general way that things would soon shake down again, that it was probably her fault, and that she must make sure what Mr. Alison had really meant. This time she would keep him to it and not let him drift off to Madonnas. She wished he would make haste and call. Why had she lent him all that stuff about Virginia? He was probably wondering what on earth to say to her about it and that was why he did not call. What a nuisance he was! She longed to ask him definitely what people really thought of Hubert's work and whether he had meant all that. You never really knew, with him.... When, however, he finally arrived, it was with such an air of mysterious excitement that she was forced to wait a moment. He stood in silence until Lily's heavy steps had died away and then, in a stage whisper: "Is Hubert safely out of hearing?" "Yes," she laughed. He always amused her when he was funny like this. "He always works, you know quite well, from five till seven. I suppose all this 'sshing is because you want to give me back my silly manuscript. Where is it?" She was glad, in a way, that he was going to be stupid over it. "Ah," he replied, "that's it," and raised a cryptic finger.