“Not for me, since I cannot see myself, particularly if I have to call you Mrs. Conolly.  If I may call you Marian, as I used to do, I think that our conversation will contain fewer reminders of the lapse of time.”

“Of course,” said Marian, disregarding an anxious glance from Elinor.  “What else should you call me?  We were talking about Nelly’s fame when you came in.  The colonial edition of her book has just appeared.  Behold the advertisement!”

There was a newspaper open on the table; and Marian pointed to one of its columns as she spoke.  Douglas took it up and read the following: 

  Now Ready, a New and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 5s.

  THE WATERS OF MARAH,

  BY ELINOR MCQUINCH.

  “Superior to many of the numerous tales which find a ready sale at
  the railway bookstall.” Athenaeum.

  “There is nothing to fatigue, and something to gratify, the idle
  reader.” Examiner.

  “There is a ring of solid metal in ‘The Waters of Marah.’” Daily
  Telegraph.

  “Miss McQuinch has fairly established her claim to be considered
  the greatest novelist of the age.” Middlingtown Mercury.

“Replete with thrilling and dramatic incident.....  Instinct with
passion and pathos.” Ladies’ Gazette.

  TABUTEAU & SON, COVENT GARDEN.

“That is very flattering,” said Douglas, as he replaced the paper on the table.

“Highly so,” said Elinor.  “Coriolanus displaying his wounds in the Forum is nothing to it.”  And she abruptly took the paper, and threw it disgustedly behind the sofa.  Just then a message from the kitchen engaged Marian’s attention, and Douglas, to relieve her from her guests for the moment, strolled out upon the little terrace, whither Marmaduke had moodily preceded him.

“Still in your difficulties, Lind?” he said, with his perfunctory air of concern, looking at the garden with some interest.

“I’m out of my difficulties clean enough,” said Marmaduke.  “There’s the child among the currant bushes; and I am rid of her mother:  for good, I suppose.”

“So much the better!  I hope it has not cost you too much.”

“Not a rap.  I met her in the museum after our confab on Wednesday, and told her what you recommended:  that I must have the child, and that she must go.  She said all right, and shook hands.  I havnt seen her since.”

“I congratulate you.”

“I dont feel comfortable about her.”

“Absurd, man!  What better could you have done?”

“Thats just what I say.  It was her own fault; I did all in my power.  I offered her five hundred pounds down.  She wouldnt have it, of course; but could I help that?  Next day, when she sent her maid for her things, I felt so uneasy that I came to Conolly, and told him the whole affair.  He behaved very decently about it, and said that I might as well have left her six months ago for all the good my staying had done or was likely to do.  He has gone off to see her to-day—­she is in lodgings somewhere near the theatre; and he will let me know in case any money is required.  I should like to know what they are saying to one another about me.  They’re a rum pair.”