The critical article closed with an optimistic forecast of the book’s popularity, “especially in non-technical circles.”
Mauney had been so engrossed in reading that he did not notice until he finished that Freda MacDowell was standing beside the sofa.
“Hello, there,” he said, quickly casting the journal aside. “I didn’t see you.”
“What do you think about the review?” she asked eagerly.
“Well,” he replied, crossing his legs and lighting his cigarette which had gone out. “If you’ll sit down a minute I’ll tell you.”
She accepted his invitation and leaned towards him.
“Isn’t it just the dandiest review you ever saw?” she asked. “I’ve been up in my room just glorying over it.”
“It’s good,” he admitted. “I appreciate the reviewer’s decency and I feel like calling you my sister in adventure. You’ve stuck to me like an Indian, Miss MacDowell. You seemed to—believe in it.”
“How could I help it?” she replied. “You managed to express a number of things that had always lain dormant in my own mind. I wanted to say them. But you said them for me.”