with her company flourish, into the apartment she had fondly
designated.

"I went away this morning, and I've only returned for an instant,"
said Mrs. Ryves, as soon as Mrs. Bundy had closed the door. He saw
that she was different now; something had happened that had made her
indulgent.

"Have you been all the way to Dover and back?"

"No, but I've been to Victoria. I've left my luggage there--I've
been driving about."

"I hope you've enjoyed it."

"Very much. I've been to see Mr. Morrish."

"Mr. Morrish?"

"The musical publisher. I showed him our song. I played it for him,
and he's delighted with it. He declares it's just the thing. He has
given me fifty pounds. I think he believes in us," Mrs. Ryves went
on, while Baron stared at the wonder--too sweet to be safe, it seemed
to him as yet--of her standing there again before him and speaking of
what they had in common. "Fifty pounds! fifty pounds!" she
exclaimed, fluttering at him her happy cheque. She had come back,
the first thing, to tell him, and of course his share of the money
would be the half. She was rosy, jubilant, natural, she chattered
like a happy woman. She said they must do more, ever so much more.
Mr. Morrish had practically promised he would take anything that was