But Fancy insisted.  They escaped together to Captain Hunken’s garden; and there, in the summer-house—­by this time almost in twilight—­he showed her the precious manuscript.  It was written (like many another first effort of genius) on very various scraps of paper, the most of which had previously enwrapped groceries.

“And to think,” breathed Fancy, recognising some of Mr Rogers’s trade wrappers, “that maybe I’ve seen dad doin’ up those very parcels, and never guessed—­well, go on!  Read it to me.”

“I—­I don’t read at all well,” faltered Palmerston.

She tapped her foot.  “I don’t care how bad you read so long as you don’t keep me waitin’ a moment longer.”

“This is Chapter Nine. . . .  If you like, of course, I could start by tellin’ you what the other chapters are about—­”

“Please don’t talk any more, but read!”

“Oh, very well.  The chapter is called ‘Ernest makes Another Attempt.’ Ernest is what Mrs Bowldler calls the hero, which means that the book is all about him.  It begins—­”

    ’It was late in the evening following upon the
     events related in the previous chapter’

—­I got that out of a paper Mrs Bowldler carries about in her pocket.  It is called ‘Bow Bells,’ and you can depend on it, for it’s all about the highest people—­

    ’when Ernest rang at the bell of Number 20
    Grovener Square.’

—­I got that address, too, out of Mrs Bowldler.  She said you couldn’ go higher than that.  ‘Not humanly speakin’’ was her words, though I don’t quite know what she meant.”

“But,” objected Fancy, “you might want to start higher, in another book.  We can’t expect to live all our lives on this one:  and there oughtn’t to be any come-down.”

Palmerston smiled and waved his manuscript with an air of mastery.  He had thought of this.

“There’s Royalty!”

“O-oh!” Fancy caught her breath.  She felt sure now of his genius.

“We must feel our way,” said Palmerston; “I believe in flyin’ as high as you like so long as you’re on safe ground.  Of course,” he went on, “there is a danger.  I don’t know who really lives in Grovener Square at Number 20; but they’re almost sure not to be called Delauncy, and so there’s no real hurt to their feelin’s.”

“Mrs Bowldler might know.”

“You don’t understand,” explained Palmerston, who seemed, since breaking the ice of his confession, to have grown some inches taller, and altogether more masterful.  “She don’t know why I put all these questions to her.  She sets it down to curiosity:  when, all the time, I’m pumpin’ her.”

“Oh!” Fancy collapsed.

Palmerston resumed:—­

“’The second footman ushered him to the boudoir, where already he had lit several lamps, casting a subdued shade of rose colour.  The Lady Herm Intrude reclined on a console in an attitude which a moment since had been one of despair, but was now languid to the point of carelessness.’”

“What’s a console?” inquired Fancy.