shook the poet's conceit, and thereupon produced an account, which ran as
follows:--

'Mr. Hyacinth Rondel
Dr. to Miss Annette Jones,
For moiety of the following royalties:--
Moonshine and Meadowsweet, 500 copies.
Coral and Bells, 750 copies.
Liber Amoris, 3 editions, 3,000 copies.
Forbidden Fruit, 5 editions, 5,000 copies.
-------
9,250 copies at 1s.
= £462, 10s.
Moiety of same due to Miss Jones, £231, 5s.'

'I don't mind receipting it for two hundred and thirty,' she said, as she
handed it to him.

Hyacinth was completely awakened by this: the joke was growing serious. So
he at once roused up the bully in him, and ordered her out of his rooms.
But she smiled at his threats, and still held out her account. At last he
tried coaxing: he even had the insolence to beg her, by the memory of the
past they had shared together, to spare him. He assured her that she had
vastly overrated his profits, that fame meant far more cry than wool:
that, in short, he was up to the neck in difficulties as it was, and
really had nothing like that sum in his possession.

'Very well, then,' she replied at last, 'you must marry me instead. Either
the money or the marriage. Personally, I prefer the money'--Rondel's
egoism twinged like a hollow tooth--'and if you think you can escape me