“And to think that the great book was actually written in this very room!” mused the enthusiastic woman in awestruck accents. “I shall always be glad to have seen it.” Again we murmured assent; and the enthusiastic woman, with an obviously sudden remembrance of Mrs Clinton, turned to her, and said: “Of course you don’t work in the same room?” “Oh, I do my little writing anywhere,” smiled Mrs Clinton. “In the dining-room, generally,” added Muriel “when it’s not wanted you know.” “Ah, well, you don’t need such complete quiet as Mr Thompson Clinton must have to think out his books, do you?” asked the enthusiastic woman, with a most amiable smile. “There’s plenty of thought in my wife’s books,” said the Prince Consort. “Oh yes, of that _sort_,” conceded the enthusiastic woman. Then we went back to the drawing-room, and the worshippers gradually took their leave, till only Lady Troughton and I were left. The child Muriel looked at her watch. “Papa’s got to go on to a party at the----,” she begun. “There’s no hurry, my dear; no hurry at all,” interposed the Prince Consort. “And, anyhow, I’m not going out, Muriel,” said Mrs Clinton. “I’m not asked there, you know.” Yet Lady Troughton and I said “Good-bye.” The Prince Consort came downstairs with us, and made us renew our promises to procure his wife’s novel. “It’s really a striking book,” said he. “And, look here, Tom; just write her a line, and tell her how much you like it, will you? You’re sure to like it, you know.” Lady Troughton stopped on the doorstep, and looked him full in the face. She said nothing; neither did he. But when they shook hands I saw her squeeze his. Then she was good enough to offer me a lift in her carriage, and I handed her in and followed myself. We drove a quarter of a mile or so in silence, and when we had gone thus far Lady Troughton made what appeared to me to be the only remark that could possibly be made. “Poor little goose!” said Lady Troughton. WHAT WAS EXPECTED OF MISS CONSTANTINE I “Do remember what’s expected of her!” cried my sister Jane. It was not the first time that she had uttered this appeal; I daresay she had good cause for making it. I had started with the rude masculine idea that there was nothing expected--and nothing in particular to be expected--of the girl, except that she should please herself and, when the proper time came, invite the rest of us to congratulate her on this achievement.