“You may be sure I should always let you know at once. And what is this I hear about Lila? Poor Lila! It’s the last chapter, I’m afraid. I advised her from the beginning that the American public will not tolerate—but dear Lila is a law unto herself.” And then, as Miss Howe came in—“Lila, my dear! How good of you to venture! A night like this makes me wonder why I continue in London. Madala has urged me to move out ever since——No. No news. But Jasper’s been energetic——” She circled mazily about them while I brought the coffee. “Kent coming?” said Mr. Flood, fumbling with his papers. Anita shrugged her shoulders. “Who can account for Kent? It may dawn on him that he’s due here—and again, it may not. It depends as usual, I suppose, on the new picture.” “Oh yes, there’s a new one,” recollected the Baxter girl carefully. “There must be! He was literally flocculent yesterday.” Miss Howe chuckled. “That can only mean one of two things. Art or——” “—the lady! Who can doubt? Well, if Carey doesn’t object to his brotherly love continuing, I’m sure I don’t. But I wish it need not involve his missing his appointments.” Mr. Flood eyed his typescript impatiently. Anita was instantly all tact. “Oh, we won’t wait. Certainly not. Pull in to the fire. Now, Jasper!” But Miss Howe, as she swirled into Anita’s special chair, her skirts overflowing either arm, abolished Mr. Flood and his typescript with a movement of her soft dimply hands. “Oh, I’m not in the mood even for Jasper’s efforts. I want to let myself go. I want to damn publishers—and husbands! Damn them! Damn them! There! Am I shocking you, Miss Summer?” She smiled at me over their heads. She was always polite to me. I liked her. She was like a fat, pink pæony. “Well, if you take my advice——” began Anita. “My darling, I love you, but I don’t want your advice. I only want one person’s advice—ever—and she has got married and is doing her duty in that state of life——Hence I say—Damn husbands! I tell you I want Madala to soothe me, and storm at the injustice of publishers for me, and then—no, not give me a brilliant idea for the last chapter, but make me tell her one, and then applaud me for it. _You_ know, Anita!” She dug at her openly. I caught a movement in Great-aunt’s corner. “Coffee, Auntie?” She gave me a goblin glance. “My daughter!” She had an air of introducing her triumphantly. “Listen! She don’t like fat women.” We listened. Anita’s voice was mellow with cordiality. “Yes indeed. Madala has often said to me that she thought you well worth encouraging.” Miss Howe laughed jollily. “I admire your articles, Nita. I wilt when you review me. But you’ll never write novels, darling. You’ve not the ear. Madala may have said that, but she didn’t say it in that way.” “She certainly said it.” “Some day I’ll ask her.” “Some day! Oh, some day!” The Baxter girl was staring at the fire. “Shall we ever get her back?”