"What's the matter with you?"
"I've gotten dreadfully worried about something."
"'Gotten' is obsolete, my dear, and an ugly word at best. What's worrying you?"
Eleanor suddenly blushed scarlet. She had known for three weeks that "Willard's Magazine" would publish "Professor Ellenborough's Last Class."
"I've written a story."
"You have!" Dr. Green brought the seat of his swivel chair down upon the base with a slam. "What sort of story? Where is it?"
"I sent it away." She could not help enjoying the telling. She felt her throat swell and her fingers tingle. She forgot even Richard and realized only that her hopes had been realized. She saw herself a little girl in Dr. Green's buggy, traveling along a country road. Her clasped hands lay in her lap and were covered by his strong grasp. "You must amount to something, Eleanor," he had said. It had seemed to her that he was almost crying.
"Your story didn't come back, did it?" said Dr. Green now.
"Three times. But at last it has been accepted by 'Willard's Magazine.'"
Dr. Green gave a little start. Though he was a purist, he allowed himself certain vivid expressions.