And now the article was two days old and quite famous. There had not been a copy left of any of the editions.
“Well, well,” said Hugh as he seized the paper, and ran his eye over the paragraphs concerning his collar habit and his shoe habit, and his ante-prandial energy,—“the laugh’s only up against myself, and I’m not thin-skinned.” Then he saw the signature at the [p142] end, “Agnes Bibby (Burunda),” in large, clear type.
“By George!” he said; “by George, Kate! That’s rough on her.” He breathed hard. “Do you think she has seen it yet?”
“Seen it!” said Kate, and her voice actually choked a little. “The poor girl is breaking her heart over it. I have never known any one feel anything so acutely. Of course she must have realized it was all a joke the moment she read the Editor’s facetious comments. And then it seems she has a brother in the office, and he has written to her a brotherly letter explaining elaborately how she is the laughing-stock of the whole town.”
“By Jove!” repeated Hugh; “by Jove!” He seemed quite stunned. “Have you seen her yet, K? Does she seem at all cut up?”
“Seen her!” repeated Kate, her mouth a-tremble with sympathy. “Yes, I went over at once, and she saw me coming and ran this way and then that to get away from me. And when she couldn’t she just dropped down against the bank on the lawn and sobbed and cried as heartbrokenly as Muffie might have done.”
“I say!” said Hugh. He gulped a lump from his throat. “I say!”
Then he turned on his heel and strode through the cottage and over the verandah [p143] and through the “Tenby” garden and across the road and away down “Greenways” drive.
“Bless the boy!” said Kate, wiping her eyes. “I know he didn’t mean to hurt the poor thing.”
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