He held up a small scented sheet to Betton, who made no movement to receive it.
“Funny? Why’s it funny?” he growled.
“Well, it’s from a girl—a lady—and she thinks she’s the only person who understands ‘Abundance’—has the clue to it. Says she’s never seen a book so misrepresented by the critics—”
“Ha, ha! That is good!” Betton agreed with too loud a laugh.
“This one’s from a lady, too—married woman. Says she’s misunderstood, and would like to correspond.”
“Oh, Lord,” said Betton.—“What are you looking at?” he added sharply, as Vyse continued to bend his blinking gaze on the letters.
“I was only thinking I’d never seen such short letters from women. Neither one fills the first page.”
“Well, what of that?” queried Betton.
Vyse reflected. “I’d like to meet a woman like that,” he said wearily; and Betton laughed again.
The letters continued to pour in, and there could be no farther question of dispensing with Vyse’s services. But one morning, about three weeks later, the latter asked for a word with his employer, and Betton, on entering the library, found his secretary with half a dozen documents spread out before him.