"You see, sir, I've got a good many things to consider," he smiled happily.
"Certainly, West, I appreciate that. At the same time I doubt if you will do better with anybody than you can with Mr. D——. It may be the L——s wouldn't want your book. It is not what is known as a popular book, you know. Poetry appeals to a limited public, and——"
"Oh, well, it's all right. Only I thought you might want to know what Uncle Joseph said, that's all. I must go now," and he turned.
"Miss Delafield is still here," said her uncle, coldly.
"Oh, good-night," West murmured, and left the room.
"Is it really he?" Delafield hazarded, hardly glancing at her. She met his look calmly.
"At any rate the book is ready, which is the principal thing, I suppose," she said.
He found himself illogically wishing she had resented it more. "It was a mistake," he thought, "she has no feeling for him."
Through the weeks that followed they avoided mentioning his name, and each, trusting that the other would forget, thought of him in puzzled silence.