'Yes, indeed! We liked it so much.--But I think when I wrote to you I told
you what we thought about it?'

And she glanced towards Manisty for support. He, however, did not
apparently hear what she said. Mr. Bellasis also looked round in his
direction; but in vain. The poet's face clouded.

'May I ask what reading you are at?' he said, returning to his tea.

'What reading?'--Mrs. Burgoyne looked puzzled.

'Have you read it more than once?'

She coloured.

'No--I'm afraid--'

'Ah!--my friends tell me in Rome that the book cannot be really appreciated
except at a second or third reading--'

Mrs. Burgoyne looked up in dismay, as a shower of gravel descended on the
tea-table. Manisty has just beckoned in haste to his great Newfoundland who
was lying stretched on the gravel path, and the dog bounding towards him,
seemed to have brought the path with him.

Mr. Bellasis impatiently shook some fragments of gravel from his coat, and
resumed:--

'I have just got a batch of the first reviews. Really criticism has become
an absurdity! Did you look at the "Sentinel"?'