Guy bowed.
"No reason at all," Mr. Worrall continued. Then making a Gothic arch with his fingers and looking up at the ceiling, he added:
"Though, of course, there will be a risk. However, my reader's opinion was certainly favorable."
And so it ought to be, thought Guy, for a guinea.
"And I don't think," Mr. Worrall went on, "that in the circumstances we need be very much afraid. Have you any ideas about the price at which your sheaf, your little harvest is to be offered to the public?"
"Oh, I should leave that to you," said Guy, hastily.
"Precisely," said the publisher. "Yes, I think perhaps we might say five shillings or ... of course it might be done in paper in the Covent Garden Series of Modern English Poets. Yes, the reader speaks most highly of your work. You know the Covent Garden Series of Modern Poets? In paper at half-a-crown net?"
"I should be very proud to appear in such a series," said Guy, pleasantly. The series, as a matter of fact, was one that could do him no discredit.
"It's a charming idea, isn't it?" said Mr. Worrall, fondling one of the set that lay on his desk. "Every five volumes has its own floral emblem. We've done The Rose, The Lily, The Violet. Let me see, your poems are mostly about London, aren't they?"
"No, there isn't one about London," Guy pointed out, rather sharply.