s formerly it had been musical, ceased; she
dropped into a chair and rested her tired head on the deserted desk,
closing her wearied eyes. She knew she had spoken between 15,000 and
20,000 words, a number almost equal in quantity to that contained in
many a book which had made an author's fame and fortune. And all for the
ephemeral reading of a day--of a forenoon, more likely--to be forgotten
when the evening journals came out!

Shortly after the typewriter gave its final click the editor came in.

"I didn't like to disturb you while you were at work, and so I kept at
my own task, which was no light one, and thus I appreciate the enormous
strain that has rested on you. Your account is magnificent, Miss Baxter;
just what I wanted, and never hoped to get."

"I am glad you liked it," said the girl, laughing somewhat dismally at
the croaking sound of her own voice.

"I need not ask you if you were there, for no person but one who was
present, and one who knew how to describe, could have produced such a
vivid account of it all. How did you get in?"

"In where?" murmured Jennie drowsily. She found difficulty in keeping
her mind on what he was saying.

"To the Duchess of Chiselhurst's ball."

"Oh, getting in was easy enough; it was the getting out that was the
trouble."

"Like prison, eh?" suggested the editor. "Now, will you have a little
wine, or something stronger?"

"No, no. All I need is rest."

"Then let me call a cab; I will see you home, if you will permit me."

"I am too tired to go home; I shall remain here until morning."

"Nonsense. You must go home and sleep for a week if you want to. Rouse
up; I believe you are talking in your sleep now."

"I understand perfectly what you are saying and what I am doing. I have
work that must be attended to at eight. Please leave orders that someone
is to call me at seven and bring a cup of coffee and biscuits, or rolls,
or anything that is to be had at that hour. And please don't trouble
further. I am very thankful to you, but will express myself better later
on."

With this the editor had to be content, and was shortly on his way to
his own well-earned rest. To Jennie it seemed but a moment after he had
gone, that the porter placed coffee and rolls on the desk beside her
saying, "Seven o'clock, miss!"

The coffee refreshed the girl, and as she passed through the editorial
rooms she noted their forlorn, dishevelled appearance, which all places
show when seen at