It was arranged that I should take it to Davison--the publisher of
'Lynwood's Heritage'--on Monday, and see what offer he would make
for it. Just at that time I felt so sorry for Derrick that if he
had asked me to hawk round fifty novels I would have done it.

Sunday morning proved wet and dismal; as a rule the Major, who was
fond of music, attended service at the Abbey, but the weather forced
him now to stay at home. I myself was at that time no church-goer,
but Derrick would, I verily believe, as soon have fasted a week as
have given up a Sunday morning service; and having no mind to be
left to the Major's company, and a sort of wish to be near my
friend, I went with him. I believe it is not correct to admire Bath
Abbey, but for all that 'the lantern of the west' has always seemed
to me a grand place; as for Derrick, he had a horror of a 'dim
religious light,' and always stuck up for his huge windows, and I
believe he loved the Abbey with all his heart. Indeed, taking it
only from a sensuous point of view, I could quite imagine what a
relief he found his weekly attendance here; by contrast with his
home the place was Heaven itself.

As we walked back, I asked a question that had long been in my mind:
"Have you seen anything of Lawrence?"

"He saw us across London on our way from Ben Rhydding," said
Derrick, steadily. "Freda came with him, and my father was
delighted with her."

I wondered how they had got through the meeting, but of course my
curiosity had to go unsatisfied. Of one thing I might be certain,