When the day came, the weather would not allow the usual walk with Harriet, and Julian could not help feeling glad that it was so. He was too pre-occupied to talk in the usual way with the girl, and he knew how vain it would be to try and make her understand his state of mind. Still, he went to see her as usual, and sat for an hour in Mrs. Ogle's parlour. At times, throughout the week, he had thought of the curious resemblance between Harriet and the girl he had noticed on leaving Waymark's house last Sunday, and now he asked her, in a half-jesting way, whether it had really been she. "How could it be?" said Harriet carelessly. "I can't be in two places at once." "Did you stay at home that evening?" "No,--not all the evening." "What friends are they you go to, when you are out at night, Harriet?" "Oh, some relations of the Colchester people.--I suppose you've been spending most of your time in Kennington since Sunday?" "I haven't left home. In fact, I've been very busy. I've just finished some work that has occupied me for nearly a year." After all, he could not refrain from speaking of it, though he had made up his mind not to do so. "Work? What work?" asked Harriet, with the suspicious look which came into her grey eyes whenever she heard something she could not understand. "Some writing. I've written a play." "A play? Will it be acted?" "Oh no, it isn't meant for acting." "What's the good of it then?" "It's written in verse. I shall perhaps try to get it published." "Shall you get money for it?" "That is scarcely likely. In all probability I shall not be able to get it printed at all." "Then what's the good of it?" repeated Harriet, still suspicious, and a little contemptuous. "It has given me pleasure, that's all." Julian was glad when at length he could take his leave. Waymark received him with a pleased smile, and much questioning. "Why did you keep it such a secret? I shall try my hand at a play some day or other, but, as you can guess, the material will scarcely be sought in Gibbon. It will be desperately modern, and possibly not altogether in accordance with the views of the Lord Chamberlain. What's the time? Four o'clock. We'll have a cup of coffee and then fall to. I'm eager to hear your 'deep-chested music,' your 'hollow oes and aes.'" The reading took some three hours; Waymark smoked a vast number of pipes the while, and was silent till the close. Then he got up from his easy-chair, took a step forward, and held out his hand. His face shone with the frankest enthusiasm. He could not express himself with sufficient vehemence. Julian sat with the manuscript rolled up in his hands, on his face a glow of delight. "It's very kind of you to speak in this way," he faltered at length. "Kind! How the deuce should I speak? But come, we will have this off to a publisher's forthwith. Have you any ideas for the next work?" "Yes; but so daring that they hardly bear putting into words." "Try the effect on me."