tary splendor, and
Theodora felt very dignified and luxurious as she leaned back on the
cushions and idly watched the passing show which had grown so familiar
to her during the past two weeks. When they came to the lower end of the
Avenue, she sat up in quick attention, for she was passing window after
window full of books spread out in enticing array, and above the
doorways she read on the gilded signs the names which she had learned to
know were on the titlepages of the books within. At the sight, there
came into her mind a sudden recollection of her well-worn manuscript at
home, and of the tales she had read of young writers who had made their
way into the publisher's presence.

With an impulsive movement, she tapped sharply on the window.

"Stop, please," she said. "On this side."

Obediently the driver drew up opposite the doorway of a firm of
international fame, and Theodora, secure in the consciousness of her new
gown and the unwonted luxury of the carriage and Patrick, entered the
store. It was a dreary day of a dull season, and with comparatively
little trouble she found herself in a quiet office on the third floor of
the building. Its occupant, a tall, thin man with iron-gray hair, looked
up at her approach, and a slight expression of wonder came into his eyes
as they rested on his girlish visitor.

"What can I do for you?" he asked courteously.

Theodora was breathing a little quickly, and the bright color came and
went in her cheeks. All unconsciously, she was looking her very best.

"I came to ask you about publishing a book."

"Mm. Is it one you have written?"

"Yes."

There was a pause, slight, yet perceptible. Then the man asked,--

"What sort of a book is it?"

"It's a novel. Kind of a love story."

"How long is it?"

"There are thirty-seven chapters done."

"Then it isn't finished?"

"No; but I could end it off about any time, if you are in a hurry for
it."

In spite of himself, the publisher smiled. Theodora's girlish naivete
was refreshing to him. He liked her face and manner, and he was curious
to see more of this young aspirant for fame, so he pushed forward a
chair.

"Sit down," he said genially; "and tell me more about it."

With the off-hand, healthy directness of a boy, Theodora plunged into
the midst of her plot and unfolded all its intricacies. The publisher
listened till the end, always with the same little smile on his face.

"How old are you?" he asked, when she pa