"He was up here for a few hours yesterday; he came to say good-bye to me, for I am going to Bath next Monday with my father, who has been very rheumatic lately--and you know Bath is coming into fashion again, all the doctors recommend it." "Major Vaughan is there," I said, "and has found the waters very good, I believe; any day, at twelve o'clock, you may see him getting out of his chair and going into the Pump Room on Derrick's arm.

I often wonder what outsiders think of them.

It isn't often, is it, that one sees a son absolutely giving up his life to his invalid father ?" She looked a little startled.
"I wish Lawrence could be more with Major Vaughan," she said; "for he is his father's favourite.

You see he is such a good talker, and Derrick--well, he is absorbed in his books; and then he has such extravagant notions about war, he must be a very uncongenial companion to the poor Major." I devoured turbot in wrathful silence.

Freda glanced at me.
"It is true, isn't it, that he has quite given up his life to writing, and cares for nothing else ?" "Well, he has deliberately sacrificed his best chance of success by leaving London and burying himself in the provinces," I replied drily; "and as to caring for nothing but writing, why he never gets more than two or three hours a day for it." And then I gave her a minute account of his daily routine.
She began to look troubled.
"I have been misled," she said; "I had gained quite a wrong impression of him." "Very few people know anything at all about him," I said warmly; "you are not alone in that." "I suppose his next novel is finished now ?" said Freda; "he told me he had only one or two more chapters to write when I saw him a few months ago on his way from Ben Rhydding.