"The Golden Sturgeon. It's a narrative poem. I'll tell Eden. He'd like that."
Mrs. Leigh said eagerly: "Let me tell him myself! I shall go out and call on him and his wife."
"They are leaving, too," said Finch, desperately. "I'm sorry. . . . You see, he has recovered, but he has to go to a warm climate."
Her pretty face fell. "I'm doomed not to meet your family! Still—there's another sister-in-law."
"Young Pheasant. She is scarcely grown up. My uncles would be frightfully pleased if you were to call on them. There's nothing they like better than calls. It would be better to let them know which day you're coming. They'd make you very welcome." But his tone was a little anxious.
She leaned forward, smiling, her lips drawn back from her teeth. "Do you think I might just rush out for a very few minutes and entreat your brother to autograph his books for me? I bought them both yesterday. Do you think that would be too much to ask him?"
Leigh intervened. "I'll take them out for you, if Finch thinks he would do it."
Finch wished that Mrs. Leigh were not so interested. He began to feel that a somewhat ruthless interest was the keynote of her character. He assured her rather glumly that Eden would sign as many of his books as she desired. It was probably the first time he had been asked to autograph his poems, he added, and instantly wished he had not given his brother away.
When he had been two days at the Leighs' he reached the point of moral courage when he could ask Leigh for a loan. It was not so easy to frame the words as he had thought. He was hot all over, and Leigh was not so casual as he had expected.
His bright glance dived into the turbid pool of Finch's soul.
He asked: "Are you sure that you want this for yourself, old fellow? It's quite a lot of money, you know."
Finch nodded.
Leigh smiled. "I'm afraid you're lying, and I love
