Mr. Slater's smile waned and flickered and quite went out; he was beginning to lose patience with his eccentric authoress.
"Your request, Miss Vaughan, was an impossible one."
"But it must be done!" she cried, passionately.
He shrugged his shoulders, ambiguously.
"And it shall be done!" she cried again, even more passionately. Then she added, in a calmer voice, watching his face: "It must be done, though I surrender everything to you, royalties, copyright, everything!"
"Your book is out, Miss Vaughan!"
His words sounded to her like the snap of a steel trap. She said nothing, and made no move, but looked up at him, dazed.
"In fact," he went on, "it has already received three reviews, in response to my advance copies. And I might add that its career will be phenomenal, simply phenomenal! Here are three clippings from yesterday's papers; all of them, as you can see, highly favorable—in fact, enthusiastic. What more could you ask for? Indeed, you are made, Miss Vaughan—made!"
She took the three long ribbons of paper with unconscious hands, still holding them at arm's length before her. Her eyes were still on Mr. Henry Slater. Something in her look made him nervous. He smiled slightly, bowed, and waited for her to speak.
"You are made, Miss Vaughan—made!" he repeated, with simulated joyousness. Still she did not speak.