"That is very good of you. Pray proceed."
"Proceed!" cried Mr. Barrowe. He had already seated himself, but he now rose, approached Pauline, took her hand, and with an extravagant gallantry which his lank body caused closely to verge upon the ludicrous, lifted this hand ceremoniously to his pale lips. Immediately afterward he resumed his seat. And at once he recommenced speaking.
"I feel that I—I owe you the most profound of apologies," he declared, with a hesitation that seemed to have a sincere emotional origin. "Handicapped as I am by a hundred other matters, besieged as I am by bores who want my autograph, by people who desire me to write for this or that journal, by people who desire consultation with me on countless literary or even commercial subjects, I nevertheless have felt it a question of conscience to pay you this visit."
"A question of conscience?" said Pauline, suavely.
"Yes, Mrs. Varick. I—I have seen that stringently objectionable article in the ... ahem ... the 'Morning Monitor.' May I ask if you also have seen it? And pray be sure that when I thus ask I feel confident you must have seen it, since bad tidings travel quickly, and..."
"Yes, Mr. Barrowe, I have seen it," said Pauline, interrupting another thin, diplomatic sort of cough on the part of her visitor. "And I should be glad if you could tell me what devoted foe wrote it."
Mr. Barrowe now trembled with eagerness. "I—I can tell you!" he exclaimed. "It—it was that unhappy Miss Cragge! I had no sooner read it, in my office this morning, than I was attacked by a conviction—an absolute conviction—that she wrote it. Handicapped, besieged as I am ... but let that pass...."
"Yes—let that pass," softly cried Pauline, meaning no discourtesy, yet bent upon reaching the bare fact and proof. "You say that you are sure that Miss Cragge wrote the article?"
"Positively certain," asseverated Mr. Barrowe. "I went to the lady at once. I found her at her desk in the office of—well, let us not mind what newspaper. I upbraided her with having written it! I was very presumptuous, perhaps—very dictatorial, but I did not care. I had stood up for the lady, not many evenings ago, at the risk of your displeasure."
"The lady!" repeated Pauline, half under her breath, and with a distinct sneer. "Go on, please, Mr. Barrowe. Did Miss Cragge confess?"