She lay back in her chair and gave the manuscript a little push toward Buddha smiling in the middle of the table.

"Well ?" she said, regarding him with defiant inquiry, cleverly mocked.
Buddha smiled on.

The candle spattered, and his shadow danced on three or four long thick envelopes lying behind him.

Elrida's eyes followed it.
"Oh!" said she, "you refer me to those, do you?
_Ce n'est pas poli_, Buddha dear, but you are always honest, aren't you ?" She picked op the envelopes and held them fanwise before her.

"Tell me, Buddha, why have they all been sent back?
I myself read them with interest, I who wrote them, and surely that proves something!" She pulled a page or two out of one of them, covered with her clear, conscious, handwriting, a handwriting with a dainty pose in it suggestive of inscrutable things behind the word.