While the minute hand of her mother's old-fashioned gold watch travelled to its next point, or for nearly as long as that, Elfrida was under the impression that a person who spelled "artificially" with one _L_ could never succeed in literature.

She believed she had counted the possibilities of failure.

She had thought of style, she had thought of sense--she had never thought of spelling! She began with a penknife to make the word right, and almost fearfully let herself read the first few fines.

"There are no more!" she said to herself, with a sigh of relief.

Turning the page, she read on, and the irritation began to fade out of her face.