Nor, were she refused, need her mother ever know now she had humiliated
herself in the dust.

How her young heart sank within her at the thought of being harshly,
contemptuously rejected! It was a positive painful physical sense of
faintness that made her limbs tremble as she pressed on faster than she
was aware. "But I _will_ do it--I will! If I succeed no humiliation will
be too great," she said to herself. "I will speak with all my soul! When
I begin, this horrible feeling that my tongue is dry and speechless will
go away. I must find out where this awful old man is; what is his street
and number. I dared not ask mother. First I will try the publisher; as
the 'servants' hall' publications have rejected it, I shall offer
_Darrell's Doom_ to a first-rate house. Why not try Channing & Wyndham?
They cannot say worse than 'no,' and I shall no doubt see a Directory
there." Thus communing with herself, she took an omnibus down Park Lane
and walked thence to the well-known temple of the Muses in Piccadilly.

Arrived there, a civil clerk took her card--which was her mother's--and
soon returning, asked if she had an appointment. "No, I have not, but
pray ask Mr. Channing or Mr. Wyndham to see me; I will not stay more
than a few minutes." 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."