I know you don't like
it. I hear you've been awfully rude to poor little Morrison of the
Post; but I'll be very careful what I say, and very quick."
He stood looking at her, a dazed and bewildered man. From the trim
little hat, with its white band and jaunty bunch of cornflowers, to
the well-shaped patent shoes, she was neatly and daintily dressed.
A journalist! He gazed once more into her face, at the brown eyes
watching him now a little anxiously, the mouth with the humorous
twitch at the corner of her lips. The little wisps of hair flashed
again in the sunlight. It was she! He had found her.
She took his silence for hesitation, and continued a little anxiously.
"I really won't ask you many questions, and it would do me quite a
lot of good to get an interview with you. Of course I oughtn't to
have begun this sketch without permission. If you mind that, I'll
give it up."
He found his tongue awkwardly, but vigorously.
"You can sketch just as long as ever you please, and make what use of
it you like," he said. "It's only a bit of a place though!"
"How nice of you! And the interview?"
"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he said quietly.
She could scarcely believe in her good fortune, especially when she
remembered the description of the man which one of the staff had
given.
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