Somebody," he added gloomily, "ought to have told her
long ago."

Half an hour later the postman brought Elfrida a letter
from Mr. Frank Parke, and a packet containing her
manuscript. It was a long letter, very kind, and
appreciative of the article, which Mr. Parke called
bright and gossipy, and, if anything, too cleverly
unconventional in tone. He did not take the trouble to
criticise it seriously, and left Elfrida under the
impression that, from his point of view at least, it had
no faults. Mr. Parke had offered the article to _Raffini_,
but while they might have printed it upon his
recommendation, it appeared that even his recommendation
could not induce them to promise to pay for it. And it
was a theory with him that what was worth printing was
invariably worth paying for, so he returned the manuscript
to its author in the sincere hope that it might yet meet
its deserts. He had been thinking over the talk they had
had together, and he saw more plainly than ever the
hopelessness of her getting a journalistic start in Paris,
however, and he would distinctly advise her to try London
instead. There were a number of ladies' papers published
in London--he regretted that he did not know the editors
of any of them--and amongst them, with her freshness of
style, she would be sure to find an opening. Mr. Parke
added the address of a lodging-house off Fleet Street,
where Elfrida would be in the thick of it, and the fact
that he was leaving Paris for three months or so, and
hoped she would write to him when he came back. It was