s 'Answers to Correspondents'?"

"I am the editor who will kick you down the entire five flights if he is
driven to it. You won't drive him, will you?"

The two laughed, but they took up their hats and went; Sellars put his
head round the door for a last word.

"What price love at first sight?" said he, and the office ruler dented
the door as he disappeared round it. The editor, left alone, sat down in
his chair and looked helplessly round him.

"Well!" he said musingly, "well, well, well, well!" Then after a long
silence he took up his pen and began the "Answers to Correspondents."

"_Dieu-donnee._--Your hair is a very nice colour. I should not
advise Aureoline.

"_Shy Fairy._--By all means consult your mother. Heliotrope
would suit your complexion, if it is, as you say, of a
brilliant fairness.

"_Contadina._--No, I should not advise scarlet velvet with the
pale blue. Try myrtle green."

Presently he threw down the pen. "I suppose I shall never see her
again," he said, and he actually sighed.

But he did see her again. For on her way home poor Kitty's imagination
suddenly spread its wings and alighted accurately on the truth; she
formed a sufficiently vivid picture of what had happened in the office
after she left. She _knew_ that those other young men--"the pigs," she
called them to herself--had speculated as to whether she was "Little
One," who wanted to make her hair curl, and to know whether short waists
would be worn; or "Moss Rose," who was anxious about her complexion, and
the proper way to treat a jibbing sweetheart. So that very night she
wrote a note to Aunt Kate, but she did not sign it "Sweet Nancy" in the
old manner, and she did not disguise her hand. She signed it George
Thompson, in inverted commas, and she said that she would call on
Thursday.

And on Thursday she called. And was shown into the editor's room at
once.

The editor rose to greet her.

"Aunt Kate is not here," said he hurriedly; "but if you can spare a few
moments I should like to talk to you about business; I did not know the
other day that you were the author of that charming story 'Evelyn's
Error.'"

The room was clear of tobacco smoke--the editor was alone--some red
roses lay on the table. Kitty caught herself wondering for whom he had
bought them. The chair he offered her was carefully dusted. She took
it--and he began to talk about her story; criticising, praising,
blaming, and tha