shortly; "but pardon me. I am extremely busy: if
she has chosen you as her messenger to bring the manuscript, will you
kindly give it to me and go?"

"How polite!" said Bertha, with a smile. "I have not brought any
manuscript from Florence Aylmer; but I have brought a manuscript from
myself."

Franks uttered an angry exclamation.

"Have you forced your way into my room about that?" he said.

"I have. You have received and published three stories _purporting_ to
be by the pen of Florence Aylmer. You have also published one or two
articles by the same person. You are waiting for the fourth story, which
was promised to the readers of the _Argonaut_ in last month's number.
The first three stories made a great sensation. You are impatient and
disturbed because the fourth story has not come to hand. Here it is."

Bertha hastily opened a small packet which she held in her hand and
produced a manuscript.

"Look at it," she said; "read the opening sentence. I am not in the
slightest hurry; take your own time, but read, if you will, the first
page. If the style is not the style of the old stories, if the matter is
not equal in merit to the stories already published, then I will own to
you that I came here on a false errand and will ask you to forgive me."

Franks, with still that strange sense of being mesmerized, received the
manuscript from Bertha's long slim hand. He sank into his office chair
and listlessly turned the pages.

He read a sentence or two and then looked up at the clock.

"I have wired to Miss Aylmer to expect me at twelve: it is past that
hour now. I really must ask you to pardon me."

"Miss Aylmer will not be in. Miss Aylmer has left Prince's Mansions. I
happened to call there and know what I am saying. Will you go on
reading? You want your story. I believe your printers are waiting for it
even now."

Franks fidgeted impatiently. Once again his eyes lit upon the page. As
he read, Bertha's own eyes devoured his face. She knew each word of that
first page. She had taken special and extra pains with it; it
represented her best, her very best; it was strong, perfect in style,
and her treatment of her subject was original; there was a note of
passion and pathos, there was a deep undercurrent of human feeling in
her words. Franks read to the end.

If he turned the page Bertha felt that her victory would be won--if he
closed the manuscript she had still to fight her battle. Her heart beat
quickly. She