He bowed himself out of the library, and Edna went back to her own room, thinking of the brief interview, and confessing her disappointment in the conversation of this most dreaded of critics.
"He is polished as an icicle, and quite as cold. He may be very accurate and astute and profound, but certainly he is not half so brilliant as—"
She did not complete the parallel, but compressed her lips, took up her pen, and began to write.
On the following morning Mrs. Andrews came into the schoolroom, and, after kissing her children, turned blandly to the governess.
"Miss Earl, I believe Mr. Manning called upon you last evening. Where did you know him?"
"I never saw him until yesterday, but we have corresponded for some time."
"Indeed! you are quite honored. He is considered very fastidious."
"He is certainly hypercritical, yet I have found him kind and gentlemanly, even courteous. Our correspondence is entirely attributable to the fact that I write for his magazine."
Mrs. Andrews dropped her ivory crochet-needle and sat, for a moment, the picture of wild-eyed amazement.
"Is it possible! I had no idea you were an author. Why did you not tell me before? What have you written?"