Part 24 (2/2)

She was ushered into a room to wait for a moment, and then very soon Franks appeared on the scene.

”How do you do, Miss Aylmer?” he said, coming up in his quick way, and shaking hands with her. ”I am very pleased to see you. Will you come with me now, as I should like to introduce you to Mr. Anderson?”

They left the waiting-room together, went up some broad stairs, and entered a very s.p.a.cious apartment on the first floor. Here an elderly man, of tall presence, with grey hair and a hooked nose, was waiting to receive them. He stood up when Florence appeared, bowed to her, and then held out his hand.

”Will you seat yourself, Miss Aylmer?” he said.

Florence did so. Mr. Anderson stood on the hearth and looked her all over. He had a keen, hawk-like glance, and his scrutiny was very penetrating. Florence found herself colouring under his gaze. She had been full of _sangfroid_ and almost indifference when she entered the office, but now once again that terrible, overpowering sense of guilt was visiting her.

Mr. Anderson was a Scotchman to the backbone, and a man of very few words.

”I read your story,” he said; ”it is sharp and to the point. You have a nice style and an original way of putting things. I accepted your story for the _Argonaut_; it may not appear for some months, but it will certainly be published before the end of the year. We had better now arrange terms. What do you think your ma.n.u.script worth?”

”Nothing at all,” was Florence's unguarded answer.

This was so unexpected that both Franks and the editor smiled.

”You are a very young writer indeed,” said Mr. Anderson. ”You will soon learn to appraise your wares at their true value. As this is your first effort I will pay you two guineas a thousand words. There are, I think, from five to six thousand words in the ma.n.u.script. You will receive a cheque therefore, say, for twelve guineas on the day of publication.”

Florence gave a short gasp.

”It really is not worth it,” she said again.

Franks felt inclined to say: ”Don't make such a fool of yourself,” but he restrained himself.

Mr. Anderson now drew his own chair forward and looked at Florence.

”I should be glad,” he said, ”to receive further contributions. You have doubtless many ideas, and you have at present the great and inestimable charm of novelty. You write in a fresh way. We are always looking for work of the sort you have given us. I should be sorry if you took your stories to anyone else. Would it be possible to make an arrangement for us to receive all your contributions, say, for twelve months?”

”I a.s.sure you,” here interrupted Franks, ”that this is so unusual an offer that you would be very silly indeed, Miss Aylmer, to reject it.”

Florence gazed from one to the other in growing alarm.

”What I mean is this,” said Anderson, noticing her perturbation and pitying her supposed innocence. ”When your story appears it will attract the attention of the critics. It will receive, beyond doubt, some very favourable comments, and other editors, who equally with myself are looking out for what is fresh and novel, will write to you and ask you to work for them. I do not wish in any way to injure your future prospects; but I think you would do better for yourself, and eventually increase the value of your contributions, by giving us your work during the first year. When can we find room for this first story of Miss Aylmer's, Franks?”

Franks thought for a moment.

”There is no reason why it should not appear in November,” he said. ”We could dispense with ill.u.s.trations--at least one ill.u.s.tration will be quite sufficient.”

”Very well; it shall appear then. You will soon receive proofs, Miss Aylmer; and can you let me have another small story of about the same length in a month from now? If your first story is liked we can find room for another in December. You will think over my proposal. I do not want you to hurry nor to appear to coerce you in any way, but we shall be proud to be the publishers who introduced you to, I hope, a very large audience.”

Mr. Anderson here got up, and Florence, seeing that the interview was at an end, bowed and went away. Franks accompanied her downstairs.

”You will, of course, accept Mr. Anderson's offer?” he said.

”Of course I shall,” replied Florence; ”why should I not? But you are both under a mistake with regard to me. I do not suppose any other editors will want my contributions; but if you wish for them you can certainly have them.”

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