‘Pray, be seated, sir,’ said Mr Hannay politely. ‘I—I do not remember your name, Mr Roberton.’
‘Ah, I daresay not,’ he replied, smiling. ‘You’ll know me better by my nom de plume. I am Ariel!’
Alfred was gratified to see the slight start which followed this important announcement, and he likewise became conscious that he was being inventoried by a pair of keen black eyes. He put a favourable interpretation on these indications of interest.
‘And what then, Mr Ariel, can I have the pleasure of doing for you?’ said Mr Hannay after a brief pause.
‘Well, sir, I have an excellent little paper here,’ Alfred replied, producing a manuscript from his coat-pocket. ‘It is entitled “A Week’s Yachting on the Rhine.” It is very carefully written; and I can vouch for its accuracy in details, as it is extended from notes I made when yachting there with a friend.’
‘Oh, very well, sir,’ said the editor, laying the paper aside. ‘I’ll take a look at it. But I can hold out hardly the least hope of being able to accept it. We are literally deluged with that sort of matter, and can’t find room for one in fifty of the manuscripts that are sent us.—At anyrate,’ he added, laughing, ‘it would require to be a little better than your “Ramble in Kirkcudbright.”’
What could all this mean? thought the bewildered Alfred. Was the editor making a fool of him? At the very suggestion, he flushed red, and it was with an effort he was able to stammer forth: ‘And pray, sir, if the article was so worthless, why did you accept it? And why did you send me so handsome an honorarium?’
The editor looked both surprised and puzzled. Instead of replying to the question, he asked one: ‘Are you the gentleman who is engaged to be married to Miss Anne Porteous?’
‘No!—Yes! That is to say, I was engaged, but am not so now.’
‘Indeed! And how is that?’ said the editor, with an air of interest.