he steps to disperse
itself with pleasant human clatterings on the veranda; but in spite of
the distractions the listening ear caught the sound for which it was
straining. With a deep breath-drawing that was almost a sob, Miss
Grierson sprang up, stole a swift confirming glance at the empty chair
behind the window hangings, and crossed the veranda to stand with one
arm around a supporting pillar. And since the battle was fought and won,
and the friendly pillar gave its stay and shelter, the velvety eyes
filled suddenly and the ripe red lips were trembling like the lips of a
frightened child.

XXIX

ALL THAT A MAN HATH

For four entire days after Margery Grierson had driven home the nail of
the elemental verities in her frank criticism of the new book, and
Charlotte Farnham had clinched it, Wahaska's public places saw nothing
of Griswold; and Mrs. Holcomb, motherly soul, was driven to expostulate
scoldingly with her second-floor front who was pushing the pen
feverishly from dawn to the small hours, and evidently--in the kindly
widow's phrase--burning the candle at both ends and in the middle.

Out of this candle-burning frenzy the toiler emerged in the afternoon of
the fifth day, a little pallid and tremulous from the overstrain, but
with a thick packet of fresh manuscript to bulge in his pocket when he
made his way, blinking at the unwonted sunlight of out-of-doors, to the
great house at the lake's edge.

Margery was waiting for him when he rang the bell: he guessed it
gratefully, and she confirmed it.

"Of course," she said, with the bewitching little grimace which could be
made to mean so much or so little. "Isn't this your afternoon? Why
shouldn't I be waiting for you?" Then, with a swiftly sympathetic
glance for the pale face and the tired eyes: "You've been overworking
again. Let's sit out here on the porch where we can have what little air
there is. There must be a storm brewing; it's positively breathless in
the house."

Griswold was glad enough to acquiesce; glad and restfully happy and
mildly intoxicated with her beauty and the loving rudeness with which
she pushed him into the easiest of the great lounging chairs and took
the sheaf of manuscript away from him, declaring that she meant to read
it herself.

"It will wear you out," he objected, fishing for the denial which would
give the precious fillip to the craftsman vanity.

The denial came promptly.

"Foolish!" she said; "as if anything