Then at last Cicely floundered, for she was quite beyond her depth.
"I think the _Rubaiyat_ is by far the best," she said gravely, and her
querist received the announcement in perfect good faith.
It was some weeks afterwards that Theodora, turning over her mail, came
upon a marked copy of the _Intermountain_.
"What in the world is this?" she said in astonishment. "I never heard of
the paper."
She opened it, and then she gasped. Upon the first page appeared a
woodcut, evidently culled from the advertising department, and beneath it
these headlines:
"Interview with Mrs. Theodora Farrington.
Alone with Her Tea-Kettle.
The Famous Young Author Works by Night.
The Inspiration of Genius by the Hob."
Theodora read it through, carefully, deliberately, down to the final
statements in regard to Browning. She wondered at first. Then the light
dawned upon her, as she came upon a carefully-turned phrase descriptive
of "the little grey dog, the constant companion of his gifted mistress,"
and she looked up.
"Cis, you wretch!" she said.
But Cicely had been watching her face and, as she watched, her own
dimples had grown deeper.
"Didn't you tell me I might?" she asked meekly.
"Yes," Theodora acknowledged; "yes, I did, and I don't know but it was
justifiable. He must have been an innocent youth, Cis; but it's not so
much worse than some of the tales told by men who have really seen me;
only--don't do it again, dear.
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