I mean to get on to fiction presently." He blushed like a girl, and looked at her timidly, with the appealing look of a dog in his eyes.

"I've tried my hand already at a short story or two." He paused.
"I say"-- hesitatingly, his eyes still more dog-like--"you are so awfully kind, I wonder whether you'd mind looking at one of my things.

Oh, of course, it's too much to ask! You're busy--you work hard, I know; I've watched you." "Why, I shall be very pleased to read something you have written," said Celia, smiling encouragement.
"You will! Oh, that's stunning of you! I'll send you a short story to-night, if you'll give me your address.

But perhaps you'd rather not," he added, quickly.
"Why not ?" said Celia.

She gave it to him.
"I'll send it," he whispered; but as he spoke, his hand went towards his breast-pocket.
Celia tried not to smile; for she saw what was coming.
"To tell you the truth," he said, with a burst of candour, "I've got one with me.