"There are thirty-seven chapters done."

"Then it isn't finished?"

"No; but I could end it off about any time, if you are in a hurry for it."

In spite of himself, the publisher smiled. Theodora's girlish naïveté was refreshing to him. He liked her face and manner, and he was curious to see more of this young aspirant for fame, so he pushed forward a chair.

"Sit down," he said genially; "and tell me more about it."

With the off-hand, healthy directness of a boy, Theodora plunged into the midst of her plot and unfolded all its intricacies. The publisher listened till the end, always with the same little smile on his face.

"How old are you?" he asked, when she paused for breath.

"Sixteen."

"And you want to write books?"

"Awfully." Theodora's hand shut, as it lay in her lap. "I'm going to do it, too, some day."