Of this Mark had nothing very encouraging to tell. The book, handsomely received by the Press, was in fair demand at the libraries, but less than two thousand copies had been sold. In America as yet it had not, so Otway wrote, "caught on." The new novel, A Soul Errant, was sure to be a success. He talked with animation for half an hour, describing his characters.
"You live for this," said Betty abruptly.
"Do you blame me," he answered quickly, "because I make the most of what is left?"
"I beg your pardon," she replied.
Later, she inquired after Mary Dew.
"She's having a better time of it," Mark declared. "I don't mind telling you, Betty, that I've tackled her mother. I told her she was a slave-owner, a despot, and a bully. She took it like a lamb, and things at Myrtle Cottage are easier, I can assure you."
"And Albert what's-his-name, who is going to marry your paragon——"
"Albert Batley is making money. He has a big building contract near Surbiton. He will give Honeydew all she wants, and deserves."
"You know nothing of women, Mark."
"So the critics say—confound 'em; but I tell you, Betty, I know a good woman when I see her."