The clerk disappeared, and returned after a moment to say the editor would be glad to see the lady.
They climbed a narrow, dusty flight of stairs that led to a glass door. It was opened by her guide, who ushered her into a room that impressed her as a medley of papers and books. A man, who had been sitting before a large table, rose at her entrance. She perceived that he was tall and broad-shouldered, that his countenance was energetic and expressive, and his glance brilliant. The lower part of his face was hidden by a reddish beard; the closely-cropped hair was of a darker and less ruddy hue. He bowed to her.
"Are you the editor of the Greywolds Mercury?" she asked, making another desperate effort to conquer her shyness.
"I am," he answered.
"If anything appears in the paper that is unjust it is to you one must appeal?"
"Certainly. I hope nothing of this kind has appeared," he answered. His tone was curt, his voice deep and not inharmonious.
"It is because something unjust has appeared, and has been repeated, that I have called upon you," said Meg.
"Indeed! Would you tell me the particulars? Pray, sit down," said the editor. If his manner had a certain brusquerie it was that of self-possession; it was characteristic of a man accustomed to speak to business men, and who could listen as well as talk.
He was dressed with a certain negligence, but with great neatness. Meg noticed, she knew not why, his large, well-shaped hand.