Two months later Steele asked her to come to the office at six o’clock, an hour at which the evening room was empty, and suggested that she should give up reporting, and start a column of paragraphs.

“I should like it better, of course,” said Patience, after he had fully explained the requirements of the new department. “I was going to tell you that I would not go to that Morgue again.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t? Well, you stood it rather longer than I thought you would.”

“And I’m tired of interviewing insolent conceited people. Oh, by the way, I should thank you for all these nice things you’ve just said to me.”

He dropped his business-like manner suddenly. “How do you stand it?” he asked. Then in reply to her look of surprise: “Oh, you know, the Chief, when he went away, told me to look out for you.”

Patience immediately became the charming woman accustomed to the homage of man. Steele’s pre-eminence was gone from that moment.

“I am remarkably well, thank you, considering how you have bullied me—and I can tell you that I did not fancy at all being ordered about by such an infant.”

“Oh! Thanks! But when a man’s too polite he doesn’t get anything done for him—not in this business. And is it a crime to be an editor before you are thirty?”

“Oh, you have reason to be proud of yourself.”

“You mean that I have the big head. Well, that is the disease of the age, you know. It would never do for a newspaper man to get a reputation for eccentricity. You’ll have it yourself inside of six months if these paragraphs are a success.”

“Never! I scorn to be so unoriginal.”

“Well, we’ll encourage your sentiments, and keep you as the office curio; but I didn’t really bully you, did I?”

“Oh, I’ll admit that you were kinder than I deserved, once in a while: when I fell asleep at the lecture, for instance.”

He laughed heartily. “That was the richest joke. There was absolutely nothing to say to you. If you only stood at the end of a long perspective of this business and could fully appreciate the humour of that situation! An experienced reporter, if he couldn’t have lied out of it, or borrowed news, would never have shown up. You looked like a naughty child expecting to have its ears boxed.”

“Oh, yes, Miss Merrien guyed me for a whole week; I know all about that now. And now that you’ve come down off your pedestal I’ll thank you for all your patience and good training. If I’ve learned to write I owe it to your blue pencil; and I don’t need to be told by Miss Merrien that you’ve saved me from a great deal of hard work.”

He smiled charmingly. There were times when he looked like an old man with the mask of youth; to-day he looked a mere boy. “Oh, any one would do as much for you, even if the Chief hadn’t given orders. You are an unusual woman, you know. You proved that—but, of course, I have no right to speak to you of that.” He stood up suddenly and held out his hand. “Well, be good to yourself,” he said. “If you feel yourself breaking, take a rest.”

“I wonder,” she thought, as she went downstairs, “if that young man knows he betrayed the fact that he has been thinking a good deal about me? He certainly is an interesting youth, and I should like to know him better.”

Patience did not find her paragraphs as easy as she expected. It was one thing to work on a given idea, and another to supply idea and execution both; but after a time her sharpened brain grew more magnetic and life fuller of ideas than of lay figures. The men in the office frequently gave her tips, and one clever young reporter, who worshipped her from afar, fell into the daily habit of presenting her with a slip of suggestions.

Her choicest paragraphs were usually edited by Steele’s ruthless hand, and now and again she was moved to wrath. Upon such occasions Mr. Steele merely smiled, and she was forced to smile in return or retire with the sulks.