"I've just written off for a copy to the publisher." "Oh!--have you?--I would tell him to transfer the order to my account--only that takes all the edge off the proceeding." "When did Uncle Remus come out first?" "Oh--a long time ago! It's odd to think how long. I'm over forty. I was almost a boy." "Perhaps that's why you liked it so much? Fancy your being fourteen years older than me!" "Perhaps." The last half of Miss Arkroyd's remark had to go without answer. It was too parenthetical to call for one. Experience teaches us that there is no meshwork of circumstance into which flatter conversation may weave itself than the combination of a married man, a young woman, and a walk out on a fine afternoon, of set purpose. At least, that was the text of a literary reflection of Mr. Challis at this juncture. He put it away in a mental storehouse for his next book. Its truth or falsehood is immaterial at present. Judith made no mental note of what _her_ experience taught; but she knew she couldn't stand being bored and she felt it coming. She had made up her mind to have an amusing walk with this popular favourite. And Sibyl might say what she liked, but she wouldn't be balked! A sense of intended impertinence may have heightened her colour slightly, as she stopped and turned the fine eyes full on to her companion. He stopped, too, looking round. "Mr. Challis, I want you to tell me something.... No!--don't promise till you know what it is...." "I am sure, Miss Arkroyd, you will ask me nothing I should hesitate to tell you...." "Don't be too confident ... it's very impertinent!" "All right--go on! I'll forgive you." "Is 'Ziz' in the 'Spendthrift's Legacy' Mrs. Challis?" "My wife? Marianne?" Mr. Challis was conscious of being reminded of his wife. A fine _nuance_ of ashamedness--it could hardly be called shame--affected his mind, surely? Else why note the perfectly obvious fact that if he and Marianne were never to forget each other for a single instant, life would be insupportable to both. Perhaps he can hardly be said to have noted it, though; suppose we say that he declined to note it, consciously, because of its absurd irrelevance. "Yes!--Marianne." Judith's eyes, with no concession in them of any shade of impertinence in the use of Mrs. Challis's Christian name, waited for the answer, as she still stood, not stirring. Was she saying to herself that this was tit-for-tat; a _riposte_ for his "Sibyl" of their talk in the morning? Saladin, not used to this sort of thing, waited also, reproachfully. Challis, rather accepting "Marianne" as a sanction of his "Sibyl," was again conscious that his soul was being brushed by machinery--not an intrusive brush though; an easy one he could ignore. His answer was not difficult. "Not a particle of resemblance between them! Ziz was a"--he stopped himself just in time--"a ... a ... almost a sort of professional beauty." The one word "professional" made all the difference--saved the position.