d
things?"

"There are ever so many things to do which I couldn't do, and shouldn't
even know how to go about: seeing publishers and printers, and all that
kind of work."

"All that I'll do with pleasure; and I am only sorry that you limit me
to that. May I ask, Miss Grey, how old are you?"

"What on earth has that to do with the matter? Shall you have to give
the publishers a certificate of my birth?"

"No, it's not for that. But you seem to me a very young woman, and yet
you order people and things as if you were a matron."

Minola smiled and colored a little. "I have lived an odd and lonely sort
of life," she said, "and never learned manners; perhaps that is the
reason. If I don't please you, Mr. Heron--frankly, I shan't try."

There was something at once constrained and sharp in her manner, such as
Heron had not observed before. She seemed changed somehow as she spoke
these unpropitiatory words.

"Oh, you do please me," he said; "sincere people always please me.
Remember that I too admire the 'Misanthrope.'"

"Yes, very well; I am glad that you agree to my terms--and we are
fellow-conspirators?"

"We are--and----"

"Stop! Here comes Mary."

Mary Blanchet came back. Her face had a curiously deprecating
expression. She herself had been filled with wonder and delight by the
reading of her brother's poems; but she had known Minola long enough to
be as sensitive to her moods and half-implied meanings as the dog who
catches from one glance at his master's face the knowledge of whether
the master is or is not in a temper suited for play. Mary had done her
very best to reassure her brother; but she had not herself felt quite
satisfied about Minola's admiration.

"Well?" Mary said, looking beseechingly at Minola, and then appealingly
at Victor, as if to ask whether he would not come to the rescue. "Well?"

"We have been talking," Minola said, with a resolute effort--"we have
been talking--Mr. Heron and I--about your brother's poems, Mary; and we
think that the public ought to have a chance of judging of them."

"Oh, thank you!" Mary exclaimed, and she clasped her hands fervently.

"Yes, Mr. Heron says he is clear about that."

"I was sure Mr. Heron would be," said Mary with becoming pride in her
brother. She was not eager to ask any more questions, for she felt
convinced that when Minola Grey said the poems ought to go before the
public, they would somehow go; and she saw fame for her brother in the
near