“It’s got to be accepted first,” she returned, with a laugh. “But I shall finish it in a week, I think.” She sighed. “How I shall miss it!” “Begin something else at once,” he advised. “You have ideas?” “Thousands!” she said, gayly. They were near home by this time, and Mayne put out his hand. “I congratulate you.” Cecily looked at him. “On the book, you mean?” “On everything,” he returned, gravely. There was a moment’s silence. “Good-night,” said Cecily as he took her latch-key and opened the hall door for her. “Thank you so much.” CHAPTER XV One day early in April, Kingslake, who was walking towards the district station at Victoria, was stopped by a man he knew slightly and would like to have known better; a man justly celebrated in the world of science and letters. “How are you, Kingslake?” he said. “Where are you going? I’m just on my way to you.” Robert shook hands cordially, but looked mystified. “On your way to me?” he began. “Calling on your wife. Bless the man, he doesn’t know his wife’s at-home day, I believe!” Powis laughed good-temperedly as he spoke. “I expect you hate that kind of thing. Well, so do I, as a rule. It takes as charming a woman as Mrs. Kingslake to get an old fellow like me out calling nowadays, I can tell you.” Robert smiled. He had no idea that Cecily knew Powis at all. “I see her book’s coming out on Monday,” the elder man went on. “Great excitement for you both, eh? Well, I hope it’ll be a great success. She deserves it. Clever girl! I always thought, even when she was a little thing at home, she’d astonish us all some day. You kept her in the country too long, Kingslake. We’re all glad to see her back.” Robert murmured a fairly appropriate reply. He felt rather dazed and confused. “When are we to have your new novel?” was the next question. “Mustn’t lag behind your wife, you know. Why don’t you collaborate? But I expect you do. Well, we’re impeding the traffic here. Sorry I sha’n’t see you at the flat this afternoon. Good-bye.” He hurried off, leaving Robert to ponder his voluble words. Cecily’s book out on Monday? He didn’t even know she was writing a book. He walked on to the station, and mechanically took a ticket for South Kensington. “Great excitement for you both.” The genial words fell again on his ear with ironical effect, while he was at the same moment conscious of one more stab to his vanity--an important personal equipment, which, of late, had been wounded more than a little. His own new book had been out quite six weeks, and it had fallen absolutely flat. This fact, a not uncommon check to the rising novelist, had depressed him considerably. Cecily had been very sympathetic about it. He remembered this still, with gratitude. Cecily, he reflected, was one of the few people who could be sorry for one without wounding.