“Who told you that?”
“I’ve read it. I’m not so young as to be denied reading the newspapers. They’ve spoken of you, and your deeds. Even had we never met, I should have known your name.”
And had they never met, Maynard would not have had such happiness as was his at that moment. This was his reflection.
“My deeds, as you please to designate them, Miss Vernon, have been but ordinary incidents; such as fall to the lot of all who travel through countries still in a state of nature, and where the passions of men are uncontrolled by the restraints of civilised life. Such a country is that lying in the midst of the American continent—the prairies, as they are termed.”
“Oh! the prairies! Those grand meadows of green, and fields of flowers! How I should like to visit them!”
“It would not be altogether a safe thing for you to do.”
“I know that, since you have encountered such dangers upon them. How well you have described them in your book! I liked that part very much. It read delightfully.”
“But not all the book?”
“Yes; it is all very interesting: but some parts of the story—”
“Did not please you,” said the author, giving help to the hesitating critic. “May I ask what portions have the ill-luck to deserve your condemnation?”