"But he hath gone into London, Master Bacon," said Phœbe. "It is most like he will not return ere to-morrow even."
Droop's hat dropped from Bacon's relaxed grasp and he seemed to wilt in his speechless despair.
Phœbe's sympathy was awakened at once, but her anxiety to know more of the all-important question of authorship was perhaps the keenest of her emotions.
"Why," she exclaimed, "'tis a little matter that needs not my father, methinks. If ten pounds will serve you, I should deem it an honor to provide them."
Revived by hope, he drew himself up briskly as he replied:
"Why, 'twill do marvellous well, Mistress Mary—marvellous well—nor shall repayment be delayed, upon my honor!"
"Nay, call it a fee," she replied, "and give me, I beg of you, a legal opinion in return."
Bacon stooped to pick up the hat, from which he brushed the dust with his hand as he replied, with dubious slowness, looking down:
"Why, in sooth, mistress, I am used to gain a greater honorarium. As a barrister of repute, mine opinions in writing——"
"Ah, then, I fear my means are too small!" Phœbe broke in, with a smile. "'Tis a pity, too, for the matter is simple, I verily believe."