During the coffee, Mrs. Denton beckoned him to come to her; and Miss Greyson crossed over and took his vacant chair. She had been sitting opposite to them.
“I’ve been hearing so much about you,” she said. “I can’t help thinking that you ought to suit my brother’s paper. He has all your ideas. Have you anything that you could send him?”
Joan considered a moment.
“Nothing very startling,” she answered. “I was thinking of a series of articles on the old London Churches—touching upon the people connected with them and the things they stood for. I’ve just finished the first one.”
“It ought to be the very thing,” answered Miss Greyson. She was a thin, faded woman with a soft, plaintive voice. “It will enable him to judge your style. He’s particular about that. Though I’m confident he’ll like it,” she hastened to add. “Address it to me, will you. I assist him as much as I can.”
Joan added a few finishing touches that evening, and posted it; and a day or two later received a note asking her to call at the office.
“My sister is enthusiastic about your article on Chelsea Church and insists on my taking the whole series,” Greyson informed her. “She says you have the Stevensonian touch.”
Joan flushed with pleasure.
“And you,” she asked, “did you think it had the Stevensonian touch?”
“No,” he answered, “it seemed to me to have more of your touch.”