" The young man smiled slightly; he was accustomed to
such assurances. Almost as Katherine spoke, a stout "country gentleman"
looking person came into the warehouse, slightly raising his hat as he
passed her. A sudden inspiration prompted her to say, "Pray excuse me,
but are you Mr. Wyndham?"
"I am."
"Then do let me speak to you for five minutes."
"With pleasure," said the great publisher, graciously, and ushered her
into a sort of literary loose box or small enclosure in the remote
back-ground.
"I have ventured to bring you a manuscript," began Katherine, smiling
with all her might, with an abject desire to propitiate the arbiter of
her mother's fate.
"So I see," he returned, ruefully but politely.
"It is a beautiful story, and I thought it ought to be published by a
great house like yours," pursued Katherine.
"Thank you," he said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Pray is it your own?"
"Mine! Oh dear no! It is my mother's. She is not very strong, so _I_
brought it."
There was a slight faltering in her voice that suggested a good deal to
her hearer. "Then you are not Mrs. W. Liddell," glancing at the card,
"but Mrs. Liddell's daughter. Pray put down that heavy parcel. Three
volumes, I suppose?"
"Yes, three volumes, but they are not very long, and the story is most
interesting.
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