“Editor! You have every influence. You are the magazine!”
George Elgood rose to his feet with a gesture of strongest astonishment.
“I the Editor of a magazine! My dearest little girl, what are you dreaming about? There never was a man less suited to the position. I know nothing whatever of magazines—of any sort of literature. I am in corn!”
A corn merchant! Margot’s brain reeled. She lay back in her chair, staring at him with wide, stunned eyes, too utterly prostrated by surprise to be capable of speech!
Chapter Twenty Six.
An Interview with the Editor.
Could it be believed that it was the Chieftain who was the Editor, after all! That short, fat, undignified, commonplace little man! “Not in the least the type,”—so Ron had pronounced, in his youthful arrogance, “No one would ever suspect you of being literary!” so saucy Margot had declared to his face. She blushed at the remembrance of the words, blushed afresh, as, one after another, a dozen memories rushed through her brain. That afternoon by the tarn, for example, when she had summoned courage to confess her scheme, and he had lain prone on the grass, helpless and shaken with laughter!
No wonder that he had laughed! but oh, the wickedness, the duplicity of the wretch, to breathe no word of her mistake, but promptly set to work to weave a fresh plot on his own account! This was the reason why he had extracted a promise that George was not to be told of Ron’s ambition during his holiday, feigning an anxiety for his brother’s peace of mind, which he was in reality doing his best to destroy! This was the explanation of everything that had seemed mysterious and contradictory. He had been laughing in his sleeve all the time he had pretended to help!