inch and a half of rusty nail standing in the wood. He himself had opened
the lids of each of them a dozen times and had not noticed any nail; but
there it was....

"It shall come out now, at all events," he muttered, as he went for a
pair of pincers. And he made no mistake about it that time.

Elsie Bengough had sunk into a chair, and her face was rather white; but
in her hand was the manuscript of _Romilly_. She had not finished with
_Romilly_ yet. Presently she returned to the charge.

"Oh, Paul, it will be the greatest mistake you ever, _ever_ made if you
do not publish this!" she said.

He hung his head, genuinely distressed. He couldn't get that incident of
the nail out of his head, and _Romilly_ occupied a second place in his
thoughts for the moment. But still she insisted; and when presently he
spoke it was almost as if he asked her pardon for something.

"What can I say, Elsie? I can only hope that when you see the new
version, you'll see how right I am. And if in spite of all you _don't_
like her, well ..." he made a hopeless gesture. "Don't you see that I
_must_ be guided by my own lights?"

She was silent.

"Come, Elsie," he said gently. "We've got along well so far; don't let us
split on this."

The last words had hardly passed his lips before he regretted them. She