Chapter 7

THE young lady in the dining-room had a brave face, black hair,
blue eyes, and in her lap a big volume. "I've come for his
autograph," she said when I had explained to her that I was under
bonds to see people for him when he was occupied. "I've been
waiting half an hour, but I'm prepared to wait all day." I don't
know whether it was this that told me she was American, for the
propensity to wait all day is not in general characteristic of her
race. I was enlightened probably not so much by the spirit of the
utterance as by some quality of its sound. At any rate I saw she
had an individual patience and a lovely frock, together with an
expression that played among her pretty features like a breeze
among flowers. Putting her book on the table she showed me a
massive album, showily bound and full of autographs of price. The
collection of faded notes, of still more faded "thoughts," of
quotations, platitudes, signatures, represented a formidable
purpose.

I could only disclose my dread of it. "Most people apply to Mr.
Paraday by letter, you know."

"Yes, but he doesn't answer. I've written three times."

"Very true," I reflected; "the sort of letter you mean goes
straight into the fire."

"How do you know the sort I mean?" My interlocutress had blushed
and smiled, and in a moment she added: "I don't believe he gets
many like them!"

"I'm sure they're beautiful, but he burns without reading." I
didn't add that I had convinced him he ought to.

"Isn't he then in danger of burning things of importance?"

"He would perhaps be so if distinguished men hadn't an infallible
nose for nonsense."

She looked at me a moment - her face was sweet and gay. "Do YOU
burn without reading too?" - in answer to which I assured her that
if she'd trust me with her repository I'd see that Mr. Paraday
should write his name in it.

She considered a little. "That's very well, but it wouldn't make
me see him."

"Do you want very much to see him?" It seemed ungracious to
catechise so charming a creature, but somehow I had never yet taken
my duty to the great author so seriously.

"Enough to have come from America for the purpose."

I stared. "All alone?"

"I don't see that that's exactly your business, but if it will make
me more seductive I'll confess that I'm quite by myself. I had to
come alone or not come at all."

She was interesting; I could imagine she had lost parents, natural
protectors - could conceive even she had inherited money. I was at
a pass of my own fortunes when keeping hansoms at doors seemed to
me pure swagger. As a trick of this bold and sensitive girl,
however, it became romantic - a part of the general romance of her