'Yes, he said it was one of the penalties of fame that one must submit to,' returned Miss Arthuret, with a delighted laugh of consciousness. Bessie rejoiced that none of her own people were near to see the patronising manner in which Arthurine introduced her to Mr. Foxholm, a heavily-bearded man, whose eyes she did not at all like, and who began by telling her that he felt as if he had crossed the Rubicon, and entering an Arcadia, had found a Parnassus. Bessie looked to see whether the highly-educated young lady detected the malaprop for the Helicon, but Arthurine was either too well-bred or too much exalted to notice either small slips, or even bad taste, and she stood smiling and blushing complacently. However, just then Susan hurried up. 'Bessie, you are wanted. Here's a card. The gentleman sent it in, and papa asked me to find you.' Bessie opened her eyes. The card belonged to the editor of one of the most noted magazines of the day, but one whose principles she did not entirely approve. What could be coming? Her father was waiting for her. 'Well, Miss Bessie,' he said, laughing, 'Jane said the gentleman was very urgent in wanting to know when you would be in. An offer, eh?' 'Perhaps it is an offer, but not of _THAT_ sort,' said Bessie, and she explained what the unliterary Admiral had not understood. He answered with a whistle. 'Shall you do it, Bessie?' 'I think not,' she said quietly. The editor was found waiting for her, with many apologies for bringing her home, and the Admiral was so delighted with his agreeableness as hardly to be able to tear himself away to bring home his wife. The offer was, as Bessie expected, of excellent terms for a serial story--terms that proved to her what was her own value, and in which she saw education for her sister Anne's eldest boy. 'Of course, there would be a certain adaptation to our readers.' She knew what that meant, and there was that in her face which drew forth the assurance. 'Of course nothing you would not wish to say would be required, but it would be better not to press certain subjects.' 'I understand,' said Bessie. 'I doubt--' 'Perhaps you will think it over.' Bessie's first thought was, 'If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, then let my right hand forget her cunning.' That had been the inward motto of her life. Her second was, 'Little Sam! David's mission room!' There was no necessity to answer at once, and she knew the periodical rather by report than by reading, so she accepted the two numbers that were left with her, and promised to reply in a week. It was a question on which to take counsel with her father, and with her own higher conscience and heavenly Guide.