'I would have sent an answer before,' he said, 'but it is so unlucky for Effie. This great man--this critic--is the only editor who would ever take her verses. And now, of course, he will be offended, and will never take any more.' 'He shall not have any more,' said Effie, with red cheeks. 'Oh! But that would be horribly mean. Well, Archie, I will begin by taking advice. I know a dramatic critic--his name is Stephenson. I will ask him what you should do next, and I will ask him about your verses, Effie, too--those verses which you are always going to show me.' 'I tell her,' said her brother, 'that she will easily find another editor. You would say so too, if you were to see her verses. I am always telling her she ought to show them to you.' The poet blushed. 'Some day, perhaps, when I am very courageous.' 'No--to-day.' Archie opened a drawer and took out a manuscript book bound in limp brown leather. 'I will read you one,' he said. 'Of course, you will say kind things,' said the poet. 'But you cannot deceive me, Armorel. I shall tell by your eyes and by your face if you really like my rhymes.' 'Well, I will read one, and I will lend you the volume, and then you will see whether Effie hasn't got her gifts as well as anybody else.' He turned over the pages, selected a poem, and read it. The lines showed, first of all, the command that comes of long and constant practice; and next, they were sweet, simple, and pure in tone. 'Strange!' said Armorel. 'I seem to have heard something like them before--a phrase, perhaps. Where did I read only the other day?... Never mind. But, Effie, this is not ordinary girl's verse.' 'Oh! you really like it?' 'Of course I like it. But it is so strange--I seemed to know the style. May I borrow the whole volume? I will be very careful with it. Thank you. I will carry it home with me. And now--I have thought of a plan. Listen, Archie. You know that many young dramatists bring out their pieces first at a matinée. Now, suppose that you read your piece, Archie, in my rooms in the evening. Should you like to do so?' 'I read badly,' he said. 'Could Effie read or recite it?' 'The very thing. Bring your dolls along and arrange your groups, while Effie recites. You will do that, Effie?' 'I will do anything that will help Archie.' 'Very well, then. We will get an evening fixed as soon as possible. I fear we shall have to wait a week at least. I will get my dramatic critic and a few more people, and we will have a private performance of our own. And then we shall defy this critic who said the piece was worthless--and then wanted to buy it and to bring it out as his own. I could not have believed,' she added, 'that there were two such impudent pretenders and liars to be found in the whole of London.' 'Two?' asked Ellie, changing colour. 'There can be only one.' CHAPTER XIV AN HONOURABLE PROPOSAL