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 it in your book. It is the cheapest sentimentalism—good heavens, can't you see it? Have you no critical faculty whatever?"

"Oh, Uncle Lester, don't!" Anne implored. "Let me see it," and she put out her hand. The young man struck it away and seized the paper.

"I won't trouble you with my 'rot' any more, Mr. Delafield," he said, with a boyish grandiloquence, "we'll see what other people have to say about it."

"Here, West, don't go away angry!" the older man urged, "I shouldn't have been so harsh. You've done such fine work that I couldn't bear"

"Oh, hush your noise!" West interrupted, brutally, "neither can I bear! You've driven me to death between you all—you'll never see me again!" and he flung out of the room.

Delafield set his teeth. "This is too much," he said slowly. "The vulgar little cad! No, I won't go after him, Anne; let him fume it out himself. I'll try to ask D over next week, just the same."