Unfortunately for her she presented too close a resemblance to the well-known type of a distressed author.

Her deep mourning, the thick veil almost concealing her face; a straw clinging to the hem of her dress and telling too plainly of omnibus-riding; her somewhat sad and agitated voice; Madame's widow's cap, and unpretending demeanor--all were against her chances of attention.

The publisher, who had risen from his desk, did not invite them to be seated.

He glanced at Felicita's card, which bore the simple inscription, "Mrs.Sefton." "You know my name ?" she asked, faltering a little before his keen-eyed, shrewd, business-like observation.

He shook his head slightly.
"I am the writer of a book called 'Haughmond Towers,'" she added, "published by Messrs.