At last Bernardine rose, and the Disagreeable Man rose too.  He followed her humbly to the door.  She turned and saw him.

“I am sorry I put you in a bad temper,” he said.  “It was stupid of me.”

“I am sorry I got into a bad temper,” she answered, laughing.  “It was stupid of me.”

“I think I have said enough to apologize,” he said.  “It is a process I dislike very much.”

And with that he wished her good-night and went to his room.

But that was not the end of the matter, for the next day when he was taking his breakfast with her, he of his own accord returned to the subject.

“It was partly your own fault that I vexed you last night,” he said.  “You have never before been touchy, and so I have become accustomed to saying what I choose.  And it is not in my nature to be flattering.”

“That is a very truthful statement of yours,” she said, as she poured out her coffee.  “But I own I was touchy.  And so I shall be again if you make such cutting remarks about my photographs!”

“You have a crooked eye,” he said grimly.  “Look there, for instance!  You have poured your coffee outside the cup.  Of course you can do as you like, but the usual custom is to pour it inside the cup.”

They both laughed, and the good understanding between them was cemented again.

“You are certainly getting better,” he said suddenly.  “I should not be surprised if you were able to write a book after all.  Not that a new book is wanted.  There are too many books as it is; and not enough people to dust them.  Still, it is not probable that you would be considerate enough to remember that.  You will write your book.”

Bernardine shook her head.

“I don’t seem to care now,” she said.  “I think I could now be content with a quieter and more useful part.”

“You will write your book,” he continued.  “Now listen to me.  Whatever else you may do, don’t make your characters hold long discussions with each other.  In real life, people do not talk four pages at a time without stopping.  Also, if you bring together two clever men, don’t make them talk cleverly.  Clever people do not.  It is only the stupid who think they must talk cleverly all the time.  And don’t detain your reader too long:  if you must have a sunset, let it be a short one.  I could give you many more hints which would be useful to you.”

“But why not use your own hints for yourself?” she suggested.

“That would be selfish of me,” he said solemnly.  “I wish you to profit by them.”

“You are learning to be unselfish at a very rapid rate,” Bernardine said.

At that moment Mrs. Reffold came into the breakfast-room, and, seeing Bernardine, gave her a stiff bow.

“I thought you and Mrs. Reffold were such friends,” Robert Allitsen said.

Bernardine then told him of her last interview with Mrs. Reffold.

“Well, if you feel uncomfortable, it is as it should be,” he said.  “I don’t see what business you had to point out to Mrs. Reffold her duty.  I dare say she knows it quite well though she may not choose to do it.  I am sure I should resent it, if any one pointed out my duty to me.  Every one knows his own duty.  And it is his own affair whether or not he does it.”