"Supposing I'd got it!" she thought, and her whole heart lifted. She pressed her hands to her breast.
Supposing that under her own small and fevered hands (dimpled, faintly stained from the carbon of her typewriter) she held it, that recipe for setting right the Blunder of the world! Ah, if she'd got hold of it really, the Love-germ, the microbe of mischief and delight!
The Disturbing Charm itself!
Then what would come of it?
CHAPTER II
THE ACCEPTING OF THE CHARM
"What I can do, can do no hurt to try."
Shakespeare.