le wares. Florence's wares were saleable--more than saleable.
She was ushered into a room to wait for a moment, and then very soon
Franks appeared on the scene.

"How do you do, Miss Aylmer?" he said, coming up in his quick way, and
shaking hands with her. "I am very pleased to see you. Will you come
with me now, as I should like to introduce you to Mr. Anderson?"

They left the waiting-room together, went up some broad stairs, and
entered a very spacious apartment on the first floor. Here an elderly
man, of tall presence, with grey hair and a hooked nose, was waiting to
receive them. He stood up when Florence appeared, bowed to her, and
then held out his hand.

"Will you seat yourself, Miss Aylmer?" he said.

Florence did so. Mr. Anderson stood on the hearth and looked her all
over. He had a keen, hawk-like glance, and his scrutiny was very
penetrating. Florence found herself colouring under his gaze. She had
been full of _sangfroid_ and almost indifference when she entered the
office, but now once again that terrible, overpowering sense of guilt
was visiting her.

Mr. Anderson was a Scotchman to the backbone, and a man of very few
words.

"I read your story," he said; "it is sharp and to the point. You have a
nice style and an original way of putting things. I accepted your story
for the _Argonaut_; it may not appear for some months, but it will
certainly be published before the end of the year. We had better now
arrange terms. What do you think your manuscript worth?"

"Nothing at all," was Florence's unguarded answer.

This was so unexpected that both Franks and the editor smiled.

"You are a very young writer indeed," said Mr. Anderson. "You will soon
learn to appraise your wares at their true value. As this is your first
effort I will pay you two guineas a thousand words. There are, I think,
from five to six thousand words in the manuscript. You will receive a
cheque therefore, say, for twelve guineas on the day of publication."

Florence gave a short gasp.

"It really is not worth it," she said again.

Franks felt inclined to say: "Don't make such a fool of yourself," but
he restrained himself.

Mr. Anderson now drew his own chair forward and looked at Florence.

"I should be glad," he said, "to receive further contributions. You have
doubtless many ideas, and you have at present the great and inestimable
charm of novelty. You write in a fresh way. We are always looking for
work of the sort you h