when we had rolled a little further I rather inconsequently and to her visible surprise broke out of my reverie. "It will never do in the world—he must stoop to Minnie!"
"It's too late—and what I've told you still isn't all. Mr. Bousefield raises another objection."
"What other, pray?"
"Can't you guess?"
I wondered. "No more of Ray's fiction?"
"Not a line. That's something else no magazine can stand. Now that his novel has run its course Mr. Bousefield is distinctly disappointed."
I fairly bounded in my place. "Then it may do?" Mrs. Highmore looked bewildered.
"Why so, if he finds it too dull?"
"Dull? Ralph Limbert? He's as fine as a needle!"
"It comes to the same thing—he won't penetrate leather. Mr. Bousefield had counted on something that would, on something that would have a wider acceptance. Ray says he wants iron pegs." I collapsed again; my flicker of elation dropped to a throb of quieter comfort; and after a moment's silence I asked my neighbour if she
