It was brought immediately, and Franks opened it at Florence's last story. He read a sentence or two, compared the style of the story with the style of the article, and finally shut up the Argonaut and went into his chief's room.
"I have a disappointment for you, Mr. Anderson," he said.
"What is that, Franks?" asked the chief, raising his head from a pile of papers over which he was bending.
"Why, our rara avis, our new star of the literary firmament, has come to a complete collapse. Something has snuffed her out; she has written rubbish."
"What? you surely do not allude to Miss Aylmer?"
"I do. I asked her to do a paper for the General Review, thinking that her name would be a great catch in the first number. She consented, I must say with some unwillingness, and sent me this. Look it over and tell me what you think."
Mr. Anderson read the first one or two sentences.
"She must have done it to play a trick on us," he said; "it is absolutely impossible that this can be her writing."
"It cannot be printed," said Franks; "what is to be done?"
"You had better go and see her at once. Have you any explanation to offer?"