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244
Daughter of Mine
"And if I should do this, just to please you, you would wish to— to please me?" he asked, drawing closer toward her.
"I — I — I must go now," she stammered, flushing and standing up quickly. "My father is coming after me."
The publisher drew a quick breath and uttered a word or two under his breath. I n the end he had never failed with any woman ; he would gamble a little on this one.
"Very well," he said briskly. "I will offer a
prize. You will look over the manuscripts that come in. We will publish a synopsis of the story in the newspapers. And then, Rosie — and then we "
But Rosie only turned scarlet and hurried home.
It was a good newspaper story ; every newspaper far and near copied it. Who could be the author of this mysterious book? Endings for the story came in from everywhere. But Rosie, hurrying feverishly through each new batch of mail, saw only unfamiliar names. Each day she looked eagerly ; each day Rayberg came to bend over her desk and question her about the contest, bending so close to her that her soft black hair touched his shoulder.
"He looks like Baron Landsandhome !" Rosie thought.
'That's a fine story" said Rayberg.
Each night she went home a little more discouraged, a little tireder and paler and thinner. Her father watched her with anxious eyes.
"You are sorrowing for Charles?" he asked her one night. "You cannot
forget him ?"
"I cannot forget him," Rosie answered.
"I cannot see you suffer so, my daughter," said her father. "Love is perhaps stronger than race and creed. It may be that the young are right, the o.l d wrong. I will longer pose."
R o s threw away the pictures of the butcher, the fishmonger, and buttonhole maker. The three villains were ended ; Baron Primerib, Count de Flounder, and Lord Stitches would trouble Lady Diantha no more. But alas, in real life now there was no poet. And the wicked Baron Landsandhome still watched her.
Moreover, he had begun to suspect her plot. And his suspicion grew deeper when Rosie, looking over a new batch of manuscripts — the attempts of writers to furnish the prize-winning ending to the story — suddenly came across one bearing the name of her sweetheart. As she read it she exclaimed: "This is the one!" Then, seeing that Rayberg was watching her narrowly, she added hastily: "At least I think it is."
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