"I don't like the tone of the story," he said to Franks; "I don't think that I should particularly care to have its author for my wife or daughter, but its genius is undoubted. That girl will make a very big mark. We have been looking for someone like her for a long time. We have had no big stars in our horizon. She may do anything if she goes on as well as she has begun."
"And yet she does not look specially clever," said Franks, in a contemplative voice. "Her speech is nothing at all remarkable; in fact, in conversation I think her rather dull than otherwise."
"I was taken with her face on the whole," said the editor; "it was strong, I think, and, with all our knowledge, we can never tell what is inside a brain. She at least has a remarkable one, Franks. We must make much of her: I don't want her to be snapped up by other editors. We must raise her terms. I will give her three guineas a thousand words for this new story."
Franks called upon his sister and Florence Aylmer on the evening of the day when the editor of the Argonaut made this remark: he found them both in his sister's comfortable room. Florence was reclining on the sofa, and Edith was busily engaged over some of her biological specimens.
"Oh, dear!" said Franks, as he entered the room; "why do you bring those horrors home, Edith?"
"They are all right; I keep them in spirit," she replied. "Don't interrupt me; go and talk to Florence: she is in a bad humour this evening."
"In a bad humour, are you?" said Franks. He drew a chair up, and sat at the foot of Florence's sofa.
She was nicely dressed, her hair was fashionably arranged, she had lost that look of hunger which had made her face almost painful to see, and she received Franks with a coolness which was new-born within her.
"I don't know why you should be depressed," he said; "anyhow, I hope to have the great pleasure of driving the evil spirits away. I have come with good news."
"Indeed!" answered Florence.