"I could not afford to wait for the seven per cent, Mr. Meeson," she
said humbly.

"Oh, ye gods! seven per cent, when he makes about forty-five!" murmured
Eustace, in the background.

"Possibly, Miss Smithers; possibly;" went on the great man. "You must
really forgive me if I am not acquainted with the exact condition of your
private affairs. I am, however, aware from experience that the money
matters of most writing people are a little embarrassed."

Augusta winced, and Mr. Meeson, rising heavily from his chair, went to a
large safe which stood near, and extracted from it a bundle of
agreements. These he glanced at one by one till he found what he was
looking for.

"Here is the agreement," he said; "let me see? ah, I thought
so--copyright fifty pounds, half proceeds of rights of translation, and a
clause binding you to offer any future work you may produce during the
next five years to our house on the seven per cent agreement, or a sum
not exceeding one hundred pounds for the copyright. Now, Miss Smithers,
what have you to say? You signed this paper of your own free will. It so
happens that we have made a large profit on your book: indeed, I don't
mind telling you that we have got as much as we gave you back from
America for the sale of the American rights; but that is no ground for
your coming to ask for more money than you agreed to accept. I never
heard of such a thing in the whole course of my professional experience;
never!" and he paused, and once more eyed her sternly.