The fear of ridicule was uppermost in his mind, and he was more relieved at his mistake not being overheard than at its groundlessness.
"The verses ARE pretty," he said, recovering himself, with a critical air, "and I am glad you like them.

But even then, you know, I could not give you the lady's name without her permission.

I will write to her and ask it, if you like." The actual fact was that the verses had been sent to him anonymously from a remote village in the Coast Range,--the address being the post-office and the signature initials.
The stranger looked disturbed.

"Then she ain't about here anywhere ?" he said, with a vague gesture.

"She don't belong to the office ?" The young editor beamed with tolerant superiority: "No, I am sorry to say." "I should like to have got to see her and kinder asked her a few questions," continued the stranger, with the same reflective seriousness.