It
was the sweetest tribute he had yet received to the idea that he might
have ability; the letter of the editor of the _Rational Review_ was
nothing to it. "No, I felt very blue; it didn't seem to me at all clear
that there was a place for me in the world."
"Gracious!" said Verena Tarrant.
A quarter of an hour later Miss Birdseye, who had returned to her
letters (she had a correspondent at Framingham who usually wrote fifteen
pages), became aware that Verena, who was now alone, was re-entering the
house. She stopped her on her way, and said she hoped she hadn't pushed
Mr. Ransom overboard.
"Oh no; he has gone off--round the other way."
"Well, I hope he is going to speak for us soon."
Verena hesitated a moment. "He speaks with the pen. He has written a
very fine article--for the _Rational Review_."
Miss Birdseye gazed at her young friend complacently; the sheets of her
interminable letter fluttered in the breeze. "Well, it's delightful to
see the way it goes on, isn't it?"
Verena scarcely knew what to say; then, remembering that Doctor Prance
had told her that they might lose their dear old companion any day, and
confronting it with something Basil Ransom had just said--that the
_Rational Review_ was a quarterly and the editor had notified him that
his article would appear only in the number after the next--she
reflected that perhaps Miss Birdseye wouldn't be there, so many months
later, to see how it was her supposed consort had spoken.
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