He was always happy when at work, although he effected very little; but, after all, the great stylists always worked slowly. His style was, it is true, somewhat commonplace; but his rather minute output allowed him to rank, in his own estimation, with Pater and Omar Khayyam, and disdain the voluminous facility of Thackeray and Dickens. He was, he felt, one of the "precious" writers, and so long as no one saw his work he was able both to comfort himself and to impress others with the illusion. It was said vaguely in Pendragon that "Garrett Trojan was a clever fellow--was writing a book--said to be brilliant, of great promise--no, he hadn't seen it, but----" etc. So Garrett looked at his sister a little resentfully. "I hope it's important, Clare," he said, "because--well, you know, the morning's one's time for work, and once one gets off the track it's difficult to get back; not that I've done much, you know, only half a page--but this kind of thing can't move quickly." "I'm sorry, Garrie," she answered, "but you've got to talk to me. There are things about which I want your advice." She did not really want it; she had decided on her line of conduct, and nothing that he could say would alter her decision--but it flattered him, and she needed his help. "Well, of course," he said, pushing his chair back and coming to the fire, "if it's anything I can do-- What is it, Clare? Household or something in the town?" "Oh, nothing," she laughed at him. "Don't be worried, Garrie; I know it's horrid to disturb you, and there's really nothing--only--well, after all, there is only us, isn't there? for acting together I mean--and I want to know what line you're going on." "Oh! about Harry?" He looked at her sharply for a moment. "You know that I object to lines, Clare. They are dangerous things." He implied that he was above them. "Of course there are times when it is necessary to--well, to be decisive; but at present it seems to me that we must wait for the situation to develop--it will, of course." "I knew that you would say that," she said impatiently. "But it won't do; the situation _has_ developed. You always preferred to look on--it is, as you say, less dangerous; but here I must have your help. Harry has been back a week; he is, for you and me, unchanged. The situation, as far as we go, is the same as it was twenty years ago. He is not one of us, he never was, and, to do him justice, never pretended to be. We, or at any rate I, imagined that he would be different now, after all that time. He is exactly the same." She paused. "Well?" he said. "All that for granted, it's true enough. What's the trouble?" "Things aren't the same though, now. There is father, and Robin. Father has taken to Harry strongly. He told me so just now. And for Robin----" "Scarcely captivated," said Garrett drily. "Have you seen them together? Hardly domestic----" Then he looked at her again and laughed. "And that pleases you, Clare."