And so the news was soon all over London, and for that matter all over the world. From one end of the globe to the other the fact was made known that a girl in her twentieth year had produced a literary masterpiece, admirable both in design and execution, worthy to rank with the highest work of the most brilliant and renowned authors. She was speedily overwhelmed by letters of admiration, and invitations from every possible quarter where "lion-hunting" is practised as a stimulant to jaded and over-wrought society, but amid all the attractions and gaieties offered to her she held fast by her sheet-anchor of safety, Miss Leigh, who redoubled her loving care and vigilance, keeping her as much as she could in the harbour of that small and exclusive "set" of well-bred and finely-educated people for whom noise and fuss and show meant all that was worst in taste and manners. And remaining more or less in seclusion, despite the growing hubbub around her name, she finished her second book, and took it herself to the great publishing house which was rapidly coining good hard cash out of the delicate dream of her woman's brain. The head of the firm received her with eager and respectful cordiality. "You kept your secret very well!" he said--"I assure you I had no idea you could be the author of such a book!--you are so young--" She smiled, a little sadly. "One may be young in years and old in thought," she answered--"I passed all my childhood in reading and studying--I had no playmates and no games--and I was nearly always alone. I had only old books to read--mostly of the sixteenth century--I suppose I formed a 'style' unconsciously on these." "It is a very beautiful and expressive style," said the publisher--"I told Mr. Harrington, when he first suggested that you might be the author, that it was altogether too scholarly for a girl." She gave a slight deprecatory gesture. "Pray do not let us discuss it," she said--"I am not at all pleased to be known as the author." "No?" And he looked surprised--"Surely you must be happy to become so suddenly famous?" "Are famous persons happy?" she asked--"I don't think they are! To be stared at and whispered about and criticised--that's not happiness! And men never like you!" The publisher laughed. "You can do without their liking, Miss Armitage," he said--"You've beaten all the literary fellows on their own ground! You ought to be satisfied. WE are very proud!" "Thank you!" she said, simply, as she rose to go--"I am grateful for your good opinion." When she had left him, the publisher eagerly turned over the pages of her new manuscript. At a glance he saw that there was no "falling-off"--he recognised the same lucidity of expression, the same point and delicacy of phraseology which had distinguished her first effort, and the wonderful charm with which a thought was pressed firmly yet tenderly home to its mark.