“I do not care a straw what it is, so long as it has pleased you. Home, John!”
“Yes sir.”
And away the carriage rolled. Constance had not determined what she should do with her prize, but she was not long in making up her mind. George had often spoken of his friend Johnson, and had shown her articles written by him. It struck her that he would be the very person to whom she might apply for help. George would never suspect her of having gone to him and, from all accounts, he was an extremely reticent and judicious personage. She told the coachman to drive her to the office of the newspaper to which Johnson belonged and to beguile the time she began to read the manuscript over again from the beginning. When the carriage stopped she did not know that she had been driving for more than an hour since she had left George standing in the road in the Park.
CHAPTER X.
Constance did not find Johnson without asking her way many times, and losing it nearly as often, in the huge new building which was the residence and habitation of the newspaper. Nor did her appearance fail to excite surprise and admiration in the numerous reporters, messengers and other members of the establishment who had glimpses of her as she passed rapidly on, from corridor to corridor. It happened that Johnson was in the room allotted to his department, which was not always the case at that hour, for he did much of his work at his home.
“Come in!” he said sharply, without looking up from his writing. “Well—what is it? Oh!” as he saw Miss Fearing standing before him. “I beg your pardon, madam!”
“Are you Mr. Johnson? Am I disturbing you?” Constance asked. She was beginning to be surprised at her own audacity, and almost wished she had not come.
“Yes madam. My name is Johnson, and my time is at your service,” said the pale young man, moving forward his best chair and offering it to her.
“Thank you. I will not trouble you long. I have here a novel in manuscript——”
Johnson interrupted her promptly.