There was a pause, and even I was now aroused to attention. We were to write our verdicts on paper,--simply the word, “Insert,” or “Reject,”--and what should I write? Instead of doing so, should I declare at once that I was severed from the “Panjandrum” by the treatment I had received? That I was severed, in fact, I was very sure. Could any human flesh and blood have continued its services to any magazine after such humiliation as I had suffered? Nevertheless it might perhaps be more manly were I to accept the responsibility of voting on the present occasion,--and if so, how should I vote? I had not followed a single sentence, and yet I was convinced that matter such as that would never stir the British public mind. But as the thing went, we were not called upon for our formal verdicts. “Lydia,” as soon as she had done reading, turned at once to her cousin. She cared for no verdict but his. “Well,” said she, “what do you think of it?” At first he did not answer. “I know I read it badly,” she continued, “but I hope you caught my meaning.” “It is utter nonsense,” he said, without moving his head. “Oh, Churchill!” she exclaimed. “It is utter nonsense,” he repeated. “It is out of the question that it should be published.” She glanced her eyes round the company, but ventured no spoken appeal. Jack Hallam said something about unnecessary severity and want of courtesy. Watt simply shook his head. “I say it is trash,” said Smith, rising from his chair. “You shall not disgrace yourself. Give it to me.” She put her hand upon the manuscript, as though to save it. “Give it to me,” he said sternly, and took it from her unresisting grasp. Then he stalked to the fire, and tearing the sheets in pieces, thrust them between the bars. Of course there was a great commotion. We were all up in a moment, standing around her as though to console her. Miss Collins came in and absolutely wept over her ill-used friend. For the instant I had forgotten “The New Inmate,” as though it had never been written. She was deluged in tears, hiding her face upon the table; but she uttered no word of reproach, and ventured not a syllable in defence of her essay. “I didn’t think it was so bad as that,” she murmured amidst her sobs. I did not dare to accuse the man of cruelty. I myself had become so small among them that my voice would have had no weight. But I did think him cruel, and hated him on her account as well as on my own. Jack Hallam remarked that for this night, at least, our work must be considered to be over. “It is over altogether,” said Churchill Smith. “I have known that for weeks past; and I have known, too, what fools we have been to make the attempt. I hope, at least, that we may have learnt a lesson that will be of service to us. Perhaps you had better go now, and I’ll just say a word or two to my cousin before I leave her.”