“Won’t I do?” asked Mrs. Puffle. “Josephine is so particular. I mean she dislikes so very much to talk about her own writings and her own works.” Mr. Brown thought of the tenor of the letters which he had received, and found that he could not reconcile with it this character which was given to him of Miss de Montmorenci. “She has an idea,” continued Mrs. Puffle, “that genius should not show itself publicly. Of course, she does not say that herself. And she does not think herself to be a genius;--though I think it. And she is a genius. There are things in ‘Not so Black as he’s Painted’ which nobody but Polly could have written.” Nevertheless Mr. Brown was firm. He explained that he could not possibly treat with Messrs. X., Y., and Z.,--if any treating should become possible,--without direct authority from the principal. He must have from Miss de Montmorenci’s mouth what might be the arrangements to which she would accede. If this could not be done he must wash his hands of the affair. He did not doubt, he said, but that Miss de Montmorenci might do quite as well with the publishers by herself, as she could with any aid from him. Perhaps it would be better that she should see Mr. X. herself. But if he, Brown, was to be honoured by any delegated authority, he must see the author. In saying this he implied that he had not the slightest desire to interfere further, and that he had no wish to press himself on the lady. Mrs. Puffle, with just a tear, and then a smile, and then a little coaxing twist of her lips, assured him that their only hope was in him. She would carry his message to Josephine, and he should have a further letter from that lady. “And you won’t tell Charles that I have been here,” said Mrs. Puffle as she took her leave. “Certainly not. I won’t say a word of it.” “It is so odd that you should have known him.” “Don’t let him smoke too much, Mrs. Puffle.” “I don’t intend. I’ve brought him down to one cigar and a pipe a day,--unless he smokes at the office.” “They all do that;--nearly the whole day.” “What; at the Post Office!” “That’s why I mention it. I don’t think they’re allowed at any of the other offices, but they do what they please there. I shall keep the MS. till I hear from Josephine herself.” Then Mrs. Puffle took her leave with many thanks, and a grateful pressure from her pretty little hand. Two days after this there came the promised letter from Josephine. “DEAR MR. BROWN,