real intention of doing so; it was always disagreeable to her to
sit in the manner of one totally unoccupied, with hands on lap,
and even when she consciously gave herself up to musing an open
book was generally before her. She did not, in truth, read much
nowadays; since the birth of her child she had seemed to care
less than before for disinterested study. If a new novel that had
succeeded came into her hands she perused it in a very practical
spirit, commenting to Reardon on the features of the work which
had made it popular; formerly, she would have thought much more
of its purely literary merits, for which her eye was very keen.
How often she had given her husband a thrill of exquisite
pleasure by pointing to some merit or defect of which the common
reader would be totally insensible! Now she spoke less frequently
on such subjects. Her interests were becoming more personal; she
liked to hear details of the success of popular authors--about
their wives or husbands, as the case might be, their arrangements
with publishers, their methods of work. The gossip columns of
literary papers--and of some that were not literary--had an
attraction for her. She talked of questions such as international
copyright, was anxious to get an insight into the practical
conduct of journals and magazines, liked to know who 'read' for
the publishing-houses. To an impartial observer it might have
appeared that her intellect was growing more active and mature.

More than half an hour passed. It was not a pleasant train of
thought that now occupied her. Her lips were drawn together, her
brows were slightly wrinkled; the self-control which at other
times was agreeably expressed upon her features had become rather
too cold and decided. At one moment it seemed to her that she
heard a sound in the bedroom--the doors were purposely left ajar-