“Oh,” said Barbran, brightening. “Well, I thought if she could do it with Alice, I could do it with Harvey Wheelwright.”
“In the name of Hatta and the March Hare, why?”
“Because, for every one person who reads Alice nowadays, ten read the author of ‘Reborn Through Righteousness’ and ‘Called by the Cause.’ Isn’t it so?”
“Mathematically unimpeachable.”
“Therefore I ought to get ten times as many people as the other place. Don’t you think so?” she inquired wistfully.
Who am I to withhold a comforting fallacy from a hopeful soul. “Undoubtedly,” I agreed. “But do you love him?”
“Who?” said Barbran, with a start. The faint pink color ran up her cheeks.
“Harvey Wheelwright, of course. Whom did you think I meant?”
“He is a very estimable writer,” returned Barbran primly, quite ignoring my other query.
“Good-night, Barbran,” said I sadly. “I’m going out to mourn your lost soul.”