"Oh, Mr Neeld, have you written a book? How interesting! What is it? A novel?"
"My dear Madame Zabriska!" murmured Neeld, feeling as if he were being made fun of. "And it's not really my book. I've only edited it."
"But that's just as good," Mina insisted amiably. "Do tell me what it is."
"Here you are, Mina. There's the full title and description for you. There's nothing else in the paper." Iver handed it to her with a stifled yawn. She read and turned to Neeld with a quick jerk of her head.
"Journal and Correspondence of Josiah Cholderton!" she repeated. "Oh, but—oh, but—well, that is curious! Why, we used to know Mr Cholderton!"
"You knew Mr Cholderton?" said Mr Neeld in mild surprise. Then, with a recollection, he added, "Oh, at Heidelberg, I dare say? But you must have been a child?"
"Yes, I was. Does he talk about Heidelberg?"
"He mentions it once or twice." In spite of himself Neeld began to feel that he was within measurable distance of getting on to difficult ground.
"What fun if he mentioned me! Oh, but of course he wouldn't say anything about a child of five!"
The slightest start ran through Neeld's figure; it passed unnoticed. He looked sharply at Mina Zabriska. She went on, in all innocence this time; she had no