The editor smiled. "How goes the political world?"
Mr. Winder leant back in his chair. His face assumed an expression of mysterious significance. "The New Year's Honours, I'm told——" he whispered.
Didcott nodded with intelligence; he was aware of Mr. Winder's aspirations. There was a pause while Mr. Winder indulged in silent and pleased anticipations of what the New Year might bring. Very shortly, the pleased look died away; he straightened himself.
"Oh, I say," he said, "I came to speak to you about something. I am afraid you'll think it a great nuisance."
"What is it?"
"Have you fixed on your serial for the New Year?"
"No," replied Didcott, surprised. "I want to get to Meredith's new story, but I haven't done anything yet."
There was a distinct look of worry on the old man's face.
"Didcott, my boy," he said, with an almost beseeching air, "don't be angry with me. I did what I could. I couldn't help it."