"How do, uncle?" he said to the Commercial Terror, who was sitting there
behind his formidable books, addressing him even as though he were an
ordinary man. "Why, what's up?"

Just then, however, he caught sight of the very handsome young lady who
was seated in the office, and his whole demeanour underwent a most
remarkable change; out came the hands from his pockets, off went the hat,
and, turning, he bowed, really rather nicely, considering how impromptu
the whole performance was.

"What is it, Eustace?" asked Mr. Meeson, sharply.

"Oh, nothing, uncle; nothing--it can bide," and, without waiting for an
invitation, he took a chair, and sat down in such a position that he
could see Miss Smithers without being seen of his uncle.

"I was saying, Miss Smithers, or rather, I was going to say," went on the
elder Meeson, "that, in short, I do not in the least understand what you
can mean. You will remember that you were paid a sum of fifty pounds for
the copyright of 'Jemima's Vow.'"

"Great Heavens!" murmured Master Eustace, behind; "what a do!"

"At the time an alternative agreement, offering you seven per cent on the
published price of the book, was submitted to you, and, had you accepted
it, you would, doubtless, have realized a larger sum," and Mr. Meeson
contracted his hairy eyebrows and gazed at the poor girl in a way that
was, to say the least, alarming. But Augusta, though she felt sadly
inclined to flee, still stood to her guns, for, to tell the truth, her
need was very great.