"Come in." Mr. Talfourd entered. In a moment she was in his arms. "Harry!"
"Meg!--more roses for you." He handed her the La France roses which had been presented to him by Mrs. Lamb. "What are you doing?"
She was eyeing the roses, without any great show of enthusiasm, which was possibly lacking because she knew from whom they had originally come.
"Harry, I've more bad news for you--I never seem to have anything else. The story's back from the Searchlight."
"What does it matter?"
"I don't like to hear you talk like that, because, you see, we both know that it matters, dear. Harry, do you think that it may have been returned because my drawings aren't up to the mark--honestly?"
"Honestly, I am certain it has not. Your drawings are at least as good as my story. I have never met any one who can illustrate me as well as you do."
"You mean that? If I weren't Margaret Wallace would you say so still?"
"I should. I should congratulate myself on having met some one who could illustrate me as I like to be illustrated. You misunderstood me just now. I said what does it matter, because it doesn't matter, in view of something of much greater importance which I have to say to you."
"Harry! what is it?"