
Study at the end of this year, eh?«
    »Father told me it was probable.«
    »Rackett and he have done nothing but quarrel for months; the paper is
falling off seriously. Well, now, when I came across Nat Walker this afternoon,
the first thing he said to me was, You know Alfred Yule pretty well, I think?
Pretty well, I answered; why? I'll tell you, he said, but it's between you and
me, you understand. Rackett is thinking about him in connection with The Study.
I'm delighted to hear it. To tell you the truth, went on Nat, I shouldn't wonder
if Yule gets the editorship; but you understand that it would be altogether
premature to talk about it. Now what do you think of this, eh?«
    »It's very good news,« answered Marian.
    »I should think so! Ho, ho!«
    Mr Quarmby laughed in a peculiar way, which was the result of long years of
mirth-subdual in the Reading-room.
    »But not a breath to anyone but your father. He'll be here tomorrow? Break
it gently to him, you know; he's an excitable man; can't take things quietly,
like I do. Ho, ho!«
    His suppressed laugh ended in a fit of coughing - the Reading-room cough.
When he had recovered from it, he pressed Marian's hand with paternal fervour,
and waddled off to chatter with someone else.
    Marian replaced several books on the reference shelves, returned others to
the central desk, and was just leaving the room, when again a voice made demand
upon her attention.
    »Miss Yule! One moment, if you please!«
    It was a tall, meagre, dry-featured man, dressed with the painful neatness
of self-respecting poverty: the edges of his coat-sleeves were carefully darned;
his black necktie and a skull-cap which covered his baldness were evidently of
home manufacture. He smiled softly and timidly with blue, rheumy eyes. Two or
three recent cuts on his chin and neck were the result of conscientious shaving
with an unsteady hand.
    »I have been looking for your father,« he said, as Marian turned. »Isn't he
here?«
    »He has gone, Mr Hinks.«
    »Ah, then would you do me the kindness to take a book for him? In fact, it's
my little Essay on the Historical Drama, just
