” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her. She had a nut-brown skin, a swarthy upper lip, a merry black eye, a prominent bust, and a tun-like circumference of waist. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. ’ ‘She’s as clothheaded as you,’ Roding retorted, but he slipped an arm about the lady’s waist and gave her a quick squeeze. So I come suppliant.
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