Miss Graham laughed, showing a delicious dimple, and Mr. Lane, who evidently had no desire to settle the question under discussion, looked inquiringly at her for a response to my words.
“You are very generous, Mr. Gray,” she answered; “but in the first place my story has never been accepted for the ‘Dark Red,’ and in the second, as the stories really ought to stand on their merits, I shall certainly not venture to put mine into competition with yours, but prefer to pocket my manuscript and retire.”
“I fear,” was my reply, “that I discover rather a tendency to sarcasm in what you say than any true humility. Of course the first point is one for Mr. Lane to settle.”
The editor cleared his throat with some embarrassment, but before he found the words he wanted, Miss Graham spoke again.
“I had not the slightest idea of being sarcastic, for, of course, it goes without saying that your story is better than mine; but since you choose to take it in that way, I am willing to leave the whole matter to Mr. Lane. He is at least the only person who has read both manuscripts.”
“Really,” Mr. Lane said, thus pushed into a corner, “I am extremely sorry to find myself placed in so trying a situation. There are points in which each story excels, and the best result would undoubtedly be attained by welding them together.”
“If that could be done,” said Miss Graham, thoughtfully.
“Now, in Mr. Gray’s version,” he continued, “the heroine is more attractive and real.”
“That,” I interpolated, trying to cover the awkwardness I felt by a jest, “is the first time in all my literary experience that the character I thought best in a story I’d written has seemed so to the editorial mind.”
The dark eyes of my neighbor gave me a bright, brief glance, but whether of sympathy with my statement or of contempt for the feebleness of my attempts at being jocose, I could not determine.