ng at me with a triumphant
smile.

"Yes," I said, "I like it, and you see that I do. But I like it because
my taste is peculiar. To me originality and force are everything--perhaps
because I have them not to any marked degree myself--but the world at
large will not overlook as I do your absolutely barbarous shortcomings
on account of them. Will you trust me to go over the drama and correct
it at my pleasure?" This was a vast deal for me to offer; I was
surprised at myself.

"No," she answered softly, still smiling. "There shall not be so much
as a comma altered." Then she sat down and fell into a reverie as
though she were alone.

"Have you written anything else?" I said after a while, when I had
become tired of the silence.

"Yes."

"Can I see it? Or is it _them_?"

"It is _them_. Yes, you can see all."

"I will call upon you for the purpose."

"No, you must not," she said, coming back to the present nervously. "I
prefer to come to you."

At this moment Simpson entered to light the room, and busied himself
rather longer than was necessary over the task. When he finally went
out I saw that my visitor's manner had sunk into its former depression:
the presence of the servant seemed to have chilled her.

"When did you say I might come?" I repeated, ignoring her refusal.

"I did not say it. It would be impossible."

"Well, then, when will you come here?" There was, I fear, a trace of
fatigue in my tone.

"At your good pleasure, sir," she answered humbly.

My chivalry was touched by this: after all, she was a woman. "Come
to-morrow," I said. "By the way, come and dine with me then; why not?"
I was curious to see what she would reply.

"Why not, indeed? Yes, I will come. I am forty-three: I might have been
your mother."

This was not quite true, as I am over thirty: but I look young, while
she--Well, I had thought her over fifty. "I can hardly call you
'mother,' but we might compromise upon 'aunt,'" I said, laughing. "Aunt
what?"

"My name is Aaronna," she gravely answered. "My father was much
disappointed that I was not a boy, and gave me as nearly as possible
the name he had prepared--Aaron."

"Then come and dine with me to-morrow, and bring with you the other
manuscripts, Aaronna," I said, amused at the quaint sound of the name.
On the whole, I did not like "aunt."

"I will come," she answered.

It was twilight and still raining, but she refused all offers of escort
or carriage, departing with