'Not for a little bit yet. You must read my rejected article and my
official instructions, and then you'll have some grasp of the subjects
I want information upon. Here they are--Mr Gibbs first.'

She handed him her editor's letters and pushed a small pile of
manuscript towards his elbow.

'There. It will take you about a quarter of an hour to digest all that;
and meanwhile, if you don't mind the noise, I shall go on typing
something I've got to send off by to-morrow's mail.'

She settled herself at the typewriter, her back partially turned to
him. The subject matter of what she was doing took all her attention.
She worked hard for about ten minutes, hearing sub-consciously the
rustle of papers under his hand and one or two faint ejaculations and a
queer little laugh he gave once or twice as he read.

Presently he said:

'I say, there's a mistake here. I've gone through your editor's
letters. He's sound; I think I can help you to get at what he wants.
But these other sheets have got mixed up with something else. I thought
at first it was a story you'd given me, and I went on reading and got
interested; and now I see it must have been written by some young woman
friend of yours'--if it's meant for a letter.'

Mrs Gildea turned with a dismayed exclamation.

'Good gracious! You don't mean to say that I've given you her letter?'