"He took a seat on one side of a large table, she on the other. I sat facing Mr. Newby—a most anxious woman, yet amused.
"'Have you,' he said delicately, 'gone on at all with literature?'
"'Oh, yes,' I answered.
"'Have you—published anything?' with great caution, so as not to hurt my feelings.
"'Indeed!!!' amazed. 'Might I ask the names?'—tentatively.
"'Well, amongst others, "George Geith."'
"A dead silence ensued, during which I had the comfort of feeling that they both felt sure I was saying what was not true. I sat quite quiet, and so did they. If I had not been so burdened with care I must have laughed out loud. As it happened, I comported myself, as I have often done since, in many difficult and humorous positions, with decent gravity, and then this came from Mr. Newby, the while the ribbons on Miss Springett's cap were tremulous:
"'If—you really wrote "George Geith," then indeed you have achieved a success!'"
And so you part; with loving tender sympathy. Though the morn of this distinguished woman's life has been so clouded, the noon so stormy, the noble, self-reliant spirit has battled through it bravely and patiently, and you leave her with the inwardly-breathed prayer that "at evening time there shall come light!"