‘It would take about four years to get finished in a quarterly,’ said Merton.

‘And the nonagenarians who read quarterlies,’ said Miss Martin, with the flippancy of youth, ’would go to their graves without knowing whether the heroine found a lenient jury or not.  I have six heroines in The Curate’s Family, and I own their love affairs tend to get a little mixed.  I have rigged up a small stage, with puppets in costume to represent the characters, and keep them straight in my mind; but Ethelinda, who is engaged to the photographer, as nearly as possible eloped with the baronet last week.’

‘Anything else on?’ asked Merton.

‘An up-to-date story, all heredity and evolution,’ said Miss Martin.  ’The father has his legs bitten off by a shark, and it gets on the nerves of his wife, the Marchioness, and two of the girls are born like mermaids.  They have immense popularity at bathing-places on the French coast, but it is not easy for them to go into general society.’

‘What nonsense!’ exclaimed Merton.

’Not worse than other stuff that is highly recommended by eminent reviewers,’ said Miss Martin.

‘Anything else?’

’Oh, yes; there is “The Pope’s Poisoner, a Tale of the Borgias.”  That is a historical romance, I got it up out of Histories of the Renaissance.  The hero (Lionardo da Vinci) is the Pope’s bravo, and in love with Lucrezia Borgia.’

‘Are the dates all right?’ asked Merton.

’Oh, bother the dates!  Of course he is a bravo pour le bon motif, and frustrates the pontifical designs.’

‘I want you,’ said Merton, ’you have such a fertile imagination, to take part in a little plot of our own.  Beneficent, of course, but I admit that my fancy is baffled.  Could we find a room less crowded?  This is rather private business.’

‘There is never anybody in the smoking-room at the top of the house,’ said Miss Martin, ’because—­to let out a secret—­none of us ever smoke, except at public dinners to give tone.  But you may.’

She led Merton to a sepulchral little chamber upstairs, and he told her all the story of Mr. Warren, his son, and the daughter of the minister.

‘Why don’t they elope?’ asked Miss Martin.

’The Nonconformist conscience is unfriendly to elopements, and the young man has no accomplishment by which he could support his bride except the art of making oilcloth.’

‘Well, what do you want me to do?’

Merton unfolded the scheme of the lady lecturer, and prepared Miss Martin to receive an invitation from Mr. Warren.

’Can you write a lecture on “The Use and Abuse of Novels” before Friday week?’ he asked.

‘Say seven thousand words?  I could do it by to-morrow morning,’ said Miss Martin.

‘You know you must be very careful?’

‘Style of answers to correspondents in The Young Girl,’ said Miss Martin.  ‘I know my way about.’