THE HILL OF DREAMS
cated for so long was at last over, and he would no longer grow sick of mornings when the letters were brought in. He took his parcel to the sunny corner of the garden, where the old wooden seat stood sheltered from the biting March winds. Messrs. Beit had put in with the circular one of their short lists, a neat booklet, headed: Messrs. Beit & Co.'s Recent Publications.
He settled himself comfortably on the seat, lit his pipe, and began to read: 'A Bad Un to Beat: a Novel of Sporting Life, by the Honourable Mrs. Scudamore Runnymede, author of Yoicks, With the Mudshire Pack, The Sportleigh Stables, etc., etc., 3 vols. At all Libraries.' The Press, it seemed, pronounced this to be 'a charming book. Mrs. Runnymede has wit and humour enough to furnish forth half-a-dozen ordinary sporting novels.' 'Told with the sparkle and vivacity of a past-mistress in the art of novel writing,' said the Review; while Miranda, of Smart Society, positively bubbled with enthusiasm. 'You must forgive me, Aminta,' wrote this young person, 'if I have not sent the description I promised of Madame Lulu's new creations and others of that ilk. I must a tale unfold; Tom came in yesterday and began to
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