He raised his hat, then held out a trembling hand, that closed upon hers with a grip that hurt her.
'I'm so glad to see you again!' he said, with unconcealed enthusiasm. 'I have been meaning to write to you for days—care of your publishers. I wonder if you will ever forgive me!'
'You had nothing to write to me,' she said, striving to speak coldly.
'Oh yes, I had!' he protested.
She shook her head.
'Our journalistic relations are over—there were no others.'
'Oh!' he exclaimed reproachfully, feeling his heart grow chill. 'Surely we were friends?'
She did not answer.
'I wanted to write and tell you how much,' he began desperately, then stammered, and ended—'how much I like Mordecai Josephs.'
This time the reproachful 'Oh!' came from her lips. 'I thought better of you,' she said. 'You didn't say that in the Flag of Judah; writing it privately to me wouldn't do me any good in any case.'