d taken up the best of her time
for a year. She had high hopes that it was destined to lay the
foundation of an artistic success. Her plot was novel, not to say
startling. It was entirely out of the conventional order. It would be
certain to arouse talk and provoke comment, if it got into print; and to
make sure that it _would_ get into print she had persuaded her father to
write a little note, which she enclosed with the MSS., saying that he
would pay a cash bonus, if the firm demanded it, to guarantee them
against possible loss.

With this note in her mind, Miss Millicent had felt little doubt that
her story would be accepted and printed. She only wondered how warmly
they would praise her work. It was not enough to have them print it; she
wanted something to justify her in saying to her father, "There, you see
I was not wrong after all in thinking I could have a literary career!"

At last the envelope was removed, and the girl's astonished eyes lit
upon this cold, dry statement:

"Messrs. Cutt & Slashem regret to be obliged to decline
with thanks the MSS. of Miss M. Fern, and request to be
informed what disposition she desires made of the same."

Millicent felt a ringing in her ears. Her hands grew clammy. A dull pain
pressed on her forehead. She felt a faintness, a sinking at the heart.
Was it possible she had read aright? Rejected, in this cruel way,
without even a reference to her father's offer! It was atrocious, and,
girl-like, she burst into a spasm of weeping.

How could she ever face her father? The sacrifices she had made came
back to her, sacrifices of which she had thought little at the time, but
which now seemed gigantic. There had been nights when she had not gone
to bed till three, other nights when she had been too full of her
subject to sleep and had risen in the small hours to finish some
particularly interesting chapter. Twelve hundred pages there were in
all, note size, in her large, round, almost masculine hand. And this
time was all lost! She had mistaken her vocation. The greatest
publishing house in the country had decided against her.

Gradually she dried her eyes. It would do no good to weep. She read the
curt answer that had come in the mail, a dozen times. Why could not the
firm have sent her a reason, an excuse that meant something? She wanted
to know wherein her fault lay. It might be possible to correct it.
Perhaps the state of business was to blame. The more she t