Would those chattering fools never go? Cecily was always surrounded by them! And he wanted to tell her that he liked her book. He had worked himself into a fever of impatience before the hall door closed for the last time. Then, at last, hearing no sound from the next room, he went in. The door was a little ajar and Cecily, who was sitting in a low chair by the fire, did not notice his entrance. It had grown dusk, but the lamps were not yet brought in, and the firelight fell full upon her face as she leaned back in her chair. Robert remembered Lady Wilmot’s remark--“She’s looking quite pretty again.” It was long since he had noticed Cecily’s looks, and it was with a sense of surprise that he admitted the justice of his godmother’s remark. He had thought Cecily had grown faded. She did not look faded now; and she was charmingly dressed. Standing in the shadow of the door, Robert watched her a moment. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, and a little smile played about her lips. He wondered what she was thinking about, and an unexpected stab of jealousy smote him, to realize that he didn’t know, that he might not ask. He moved forward and Cecily, rather startled, raised her head. She rose with a kind of embarrassment at the sight of him and stood waiting by the mantelpiece as he came near. “I’ve read your book,” he began. She flushed nervously. “Already?” she asked, with a laugh. “Yes. I read it at a sitting.” He paused. “I wanted to tell you that I like it. I like it more than I can----” Again he stopped, and Cecily looked at him, surprised and touched. Robert, who was always so fluent! That Robert should stammer and hesitate meant much. Impulsively she put out her hand. “Really? I’m so glad,” she began, softly. “Mr. Mayne,” said the maid’s voice suddenly, and Robert dropped the hand he had the previous moment eagerly taken. “That you, Mayne? You’ll excuse me--I must get to work,” he said, making towards the door at which Mayne had just entered. He had seen his wife’s eyes go past him and brighten as they fell upon her visitor, and he closed his study door with a bang. CHAPTER XVII The weeks that followed were difficult weeks for Robert. Cecily’s book was a success in so far that from the artist’s standpoint it attracted just the right sort of attention. It was praised by just the half-dozen critics whose opinion Robert held to be valuable; the critics whose good opinion he had secretly never ceased to covet, even while he consciously strayed into the broad path which leads to popular success and literary destruction.