might have been knocking for ten minutes. It happened to be Lea's
employer, the publisher of my first book. He opened the door at last,
and came in rather peremptorily. He had the air of having worked himself
into a temper--of being intellectually rather afraid of Lea, but of
being, for this occasion, determined to assert himself.

The introduction to myself--I had never met him--which took place after
he had hastily brought out half a sentence or so, had the effect of
putting him out of his stride, but, after having remotely acknowledged
the possibility of my existence, he began again.

The matter was one of some delicacy. I myself should have hesitated to
broach it before a third party, even one so negligible as myself. But
Mr. Polehampton apparently did not. He had to catch the last post.

Lea, it appeared, had advised him to publish a manuscript by a man
called Howden--a moderately known writer....

"But I am disturbed to find, Mr. Lea, that is, my daughter tells me that
the manuscript is not ... is not at all the thing.... In fact, it's
quite--and--eh ... I suppose it's too late to draw back?"

"Oh, it's altogether too late for _that_" Lea said, nonchalantly.
"Besides, Howden's theories always sell."

"Oh, yes, of course, of course," Mr. Polehampton interjected, hastily,
"but don't you think now ... I mean, taking into consideration the
damage it may do our reputation ... that we ought to ask Mr. Howden to
accept, say fifty pounds less than...."