'I remember it well enough. We were alone in the drawing-room; I had told the others that they must make shift with the dining- room for that evening. And you pulled the book out of your pocket unexpectedly. I laughed at your habit of always carrying little books about.'

The cheerful news had brightened her. If she had been summoned to hear lamentations her voice would not have rippled thus soothingly. Reardon thought of this, and it made him silent for a minute.

'The habit was ominous,' he said, looking at her with an uncertain smile. 'A practical literary man doesn't do such things.'

With curious frequency she mentioned the name of Milvain. Her unconsciousness in doing so prevented Reardon from thinking about the fact; still, he had noted it.

'Did you understand the phrase slightingly?' he asked.

'Slightingly? Yes, a little, of course. It always has that sense on your lips, I think.'

In the light of this answer he mused upon her readily-offered instance. True, he had occasionally spoken of Jasper with something less than respect, but Amy was not in the habit of doing so.

'I hadn't any such meaning just then,' he said. 'I meant quite simply that my bookish habits didn't promise much for my success as a novelist.'