“This story,” she said quite tremulously—“Oh, I am so anxious, so very anxious about it. The editor of the Evening Mail—has promised to use one of mine; it will be—well, not quite my first story in print, but certainly the first one paid for. There is such a difference, isn’t there? Nearly any one can get a story into print if they want no remuneration. You can understand how anxious I am that it should be good. I sent it to be typed in town so that it would present a better appearance. It has just come back by the post. Oh! if you could spare time to glance at it. Is it too much to ask?”
He laughed at her. “A bit of a story like that—three thousand words at the most! You are too modest, Miss Bibby. You should have brought me a packet weighing about half a hundredweight as the rest of them send me.”
“No, no;—just that I am pinning all my hopes on Hypocrites.” A wave of pink was in her cheeks, her eyes shone softly.
“With the greatest pleasure in life,” said Hugh heartily, and tucked the little roll beneath his arm. “And now I had better go and wash my face, or Kate will be coming after me with a sponge and towel.”
“A wave of pink was in her cheeks, her eyes shone softly.”
[p155] And back he went to “Tenby,” while Miss Bibby with a much less heavy heart returned to her interrupted “one, two, three, four” with Pauline.
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