"That's right, Mr. Heriot," said Mrs. Baines placidly. "I'm glad to hear you say so. That's what I've been telling her. I say she mustn't be disheartened. Why, it's surprising, I'm sure, how much seems to be thought of people who write stories and things nowadays; they seem to make quite a fuss of them, don't they? And I'm certain dear Mamie could write if she put her mind to it. I was reading in the paper, _Tit-Bits_, only last week, that there was a book called _Robert Ellis_, or some such name, that made the author quite talked about. Now, I read the piece out to you, dear, didn't I? A book about religion, it was, by a lady; and I'm sure dear Mamie knows as much about religion as anyone." "My aunt means _Robert Elsmere_," said Mamie, in a laboured voice. "You may have heard it mentioned?" "You mustn't expect Mr. Heriot to know much about it," said Mrs. Baines; "Mr. Heriot is so busy a gentleman that very likely he doesn't hear of these things. But I assure you, Mr. Heriot, the story seems to have been read a great deal; and what I say is, if dear Mamie can't be an actress, why shouldn't she write books, if she wants to do something of the sort? I wonder my brother didn't teach her to paint, with her notions and that--but, not having learnt, I say she ought to write books. That's the thing for her--a nice pen and ink, and her own home." "I agree with you, Mrs. Baines. If she wants to write, she can do that in her own home." "Not to compare it with such a profession as yours, Mr. Heriot," she said, "which, of course, is sensible and grave. But girls can't be barristers, and----" "Will you open the window for me?" exclaimed Mamie; "it's frightfully warm, don't you think so?" She stood there with her head thrown back, and closed eyes, her foot tapping the floor restlessly. "Are you wishing you hadn't come?" she asked under her breath. "Why?" "One must suffer to be polite here." "Aren't you a little unjust?" said Heriot deprecatingly. "You have it for an hour," she muttered; "_I_ have had it for twelve months. Have you ever wanted to shriek? _I_ wanted to shriek just now, violently!" "I know you did," he said. "Well, it's nearly over.... Are you glad?" "Yes, and no--I can't say. If----" "Won't you go on?" "If I dared hope to do anything else.... But I'm not going to talk like that any more! I'm ridiculous enough already." "To whom are you ridiculous?" "To my own perception--you!" "Not to me," he said. "'Pathetic'? Yes, to you I'm 'pathetic.' You pity me as you might pity a lunatic who imagined she was the Queen of England." "I think you know," said Heriot diffidently, "that neither the Queen nor a lunatic inspires in me quite the feeling that I have for you." She changed her position, and spoke at random. "This street is awfully stupid, isn't it?" she said. "Look at that man going up the steps!" "Yes, he is very stupid, I daresay. What of it?" "He is a clerk," she said; "and wheels his babies out on Sunday." "Mamie!"