"Under the title of 'The Snarler.'"
Philip stood on the hearthrug and warmed himself.
"My dear Dale," he said, "I do not snarl. A wise author pleases each section of the public in turn. Hitherto you have pleased me and my kind, and Roberts and his kind, and Arthur Angell and his kind—who are, by the way, not worth pleasing, for they expect presentation copies. Now, in this new work, which is, I understand, your tribute to the nation which has the honor to bear you, you will please——" He paused.
"I always write to please myself," said Dale.
"Yourself," continued Philip, "this mysterious lady, and, I think we may add, the Mayor of Market Denborough."
"Go to the devil!" said the poet.
CHAPTER XII.
A Dedication—and a Desecration.