"He is going to tell me about the Upheaving of Ælfred" thought Phillis. "And how does the Workshop get on?" she asked.
"Fairly well," he replied modestly. "We publish in the autumn. The work is to be brought out, you will be glad to learn, with all the luxury of the best illustrations, paper, print, and binding that money can procure."
"So that all you want is the poem itself," said Phillis, with a mischievous light in her eyes.
"Ye-es——" he winced a little. "As you say, the Epic itself alone is wanting, and that advances with mighty strides. My brother Humphrey—a noble creature is Humphrey, Miss Fleming——"
She bowed and smiled.
"Is he still hard at work? Always hard at work?" She laughed as she asked the question.
"His work is crushing him, Miss Fleming—may I call you Phillis?" He spoke very solemnly—"His work is crushing him."
"Of course you may, Mr. Cornelius. We are quite old friends. But I am sorry to hear that your brother is being crushed."
"Yesterday, Phillis—I feel to you already like a brother," pursued the Poet—"yesterday I discovered the secret of Humphrey's life. May I tell it to you?"
"If you please." She began to be a little bored. Also she noticed that Agatha wore a look of mute suffering, as if the Artist was getting altogether too much for her. "If you please; but be quick, because I think Mrs. L'Estrange wants me."