“Since writing gives you such amusement,” he said, “I will not altogether discourage it. You may print that work for private circulation—I have no great objection to that—and as for the gallery of the church, I will support that by a handsome donation.” Dashleigh thought that this concession must entirely satisfy Annabella, but in this he showed little knowledge of the peculiar ambition of his wife. What! was she never to see a review of her work in a leading paper,—was she to limit its circulation,—were a few friends and acquaintance alone to enjoy what she had expected would excite a sensation throughout the literary world! This would be clipping the wings of her Pegasus indeed, and making him the mere carriage-horse of a peer! “I would rather burn my volume at once,” she said pettishly, “than have it merely printed for private circulation. I should be ashamed to send it round like a begging-box to my acquaintance, with an understood petition of ‘compliments thankfully received!’” “You could not endure to see your book hawked about, sold on miserable stalls, thumbed in circulating libraries!” The idea was shocking to the earl, but very delightful to Annabella. “I could endure it very well,” she said coldly; “I see no harm in the thing.” “But I see it, madam,” exclaimed Dashleigh, “and what’s more, I will not suffer it to be done! Your dignity is connected with my own; it may be nothing to you, but it is something to me. If my wishes have no effect, you will at least listen to my commands.” “Tyrant!” whispered the demon Pride; and the heart of Annabella echoed the treasonous word ‘tyrant!’ The earl was satisfied with having taken a step so decided. He had no wish to prolong a discussion with his wife, in which, as he knew by experience, she generally had the advantage. Having uttered his mandate he quitted the room, leaving Annabella in a state of angry excitement. “Private circulation! I may print for private circulation! most condescending concession from my lord!” she muttered to herself, as she sat gloomily surveying the proofs which had lately afforded her such keen delight. Then a thought seemed at once to strike the countess, her over-cast countenance lighted up with a gleam as if of triumph. “Yes; I will write something for private circulation,” she cried, “something which my lord will find so very amusing, so highly diverting, that he will be glad to compound for its suppression by letting me do what I like with my book. Mine shall be a little romance in real life, an incident in the life of a peer of the realm!” and, dashing the drops from her eyes, Annabella at once sat down to her desk.