In the sequel Mrs. Brownrigg eventuated, in the place of Miss Caldecott. And she and her husband are a happy couple at this date of writing. They have discovered a modus vivendi, and are highly satisfied with it.
That is how it was that the conversation with which this chapter opened became possible. Let it proceed:
"Do you think Sir Alfred's last book is so much worse than his others, Yorick?"
"I can't say it struck me so. If it is, it's not because of his knock on the head; because it was all written three years ago, and has been lying in a drawer. But the reviewers—he was talking about it himself yesterday evening—always take for granted that every book is the work of the last twelvemonth. He read me some of what he has just written, and it seemed all right to me. That Bob of his is a delightful boy, only too sweeping in his views. It is not true that all reviewers are asses, or that they never read the books they criticise. Bob came with him to see me off."
"How do they like Sussex Terrace?"
"Very much. At least, they will when they are settled. It's a splendid big house. I think he was glad to leave the Hermitage, for more reasons than one...."
"I know one. What were the others?"
"Which is the one you know?"
"Mrs. Eldridge."