” “Fame!” “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. Cathy gave her a bear hug and patted her severe 252 hairdo. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. She could not hide her face. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little.
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