"I! _I_ spoil your pleasure--_I_ depreciate you!" Philippa was fairly gasping with surprise and wounded feeling. "When I slave for you all day long! When I take everything off your hands, so that you may give your time to your work! When it is through me you are here at all! You cruel, ungrateful girl, how can you have the heart to speak to me in such a way?" "I'm sure I don't want you to slave for me. I am quite capable of doing my own mending, if you refer to that. I should _like_ to take more share in the housekeeping, but you are so jealous if any one interferes." "Jealous! Oh, oh! Jealous!" repeated Philippa dramatically. Her eyes were beginning to grow tearful. Theo's dark brows met in an ominous frown; there were all the signs of a row royal, when Hope came flying to the rescue. "Girls, girls, _be quiet_!" she cried, banging her fist on the table in imperative fashion. "You shall _not_ quarrel when we ought to be so happy! This is the best success we have had, and it would be disgraceful to spoil it by quarrelling like babies. You are both to blame, so no apologies are needed, but for goodness' sake smile and look pleasant." "I'm sure I am only too willing. I want to smile if I am allowed," said Theo gloomily. "I'm sure I don't want to quarrel. Perhaps I had better go away and leave you to yourselves, since I am such a wet blanket," sniffed Philippa into her pocket-handkerchief. Madge gave Hope a warning kick under the table, and began to chatter as unconcernedly as if nothing had occurred. "You can always write `Contributor to the _Casket, etc_,' beneath your name on the back of your MSS, Theo. No need to mention that the _et cetera_ means the _Penny Penman_! And if you intimate to all whom it may concern that you write anonymously for the _Casket_, you may get credit for half-a-dozen stories instead of one. I wonder what they will pay you for it, and how soon it will appear. Won't the Hermit be impressed? He says it is the only magazine worth reading. Do knock at the door and tell him, Phil, as you go out for your shopping." Wily Madge wished to offer a sop to each of the combatants, and had the satisfaction of seeing Philippa smile faintly, and the complacent expression return to Theo's face. "I knew it was a splendid story when I sent it off," said the author modestly. "Ten pounds at least, I should think, as it is such a first-class magazine. It took me less than four days, with all the correction and rewriting. Ten pounds a week; how much is that a year? If I earned five hundred a year it would make a difference in our exchequer, wouldn't it, Phil?"