She held out her hand for the proofs. “I am glad,” she said.
She read it, slowly and studiously, and as she read an expression, new to Jeremy in the changeful charm of her face, puzzled his watchful eyes.
“It is very vivid,” she said, “and enthusiastic.”
She rose. On their way back to the Pritchard house she plied him with questions bearing on the technique of journalism. As he stood, bareheaded under the porch light looking up at her, she asked:
“May I keep the proof of the article?”
“Yes. You like it, then?”
“I love it. But I am glad that it was not published.”
“Why?”
“There is too much Me in it.” She paused. “Did I seem to you like that—then?”
“Yes. And more.”