Page:Christopher Morley--Tales from a rolltop desk.djvu/172

But then a pang of horror chilled her. What dreadful mistake had happened? Alas, it was only too plain—the two stories had been confused. The editor had thought that her story was Godfrey's. He had read it expecting to find the skill of Godfrey's trained hand. And now how was she to spare her husband the mortification of having his painstaking work rejected, while her prentice sketch had won favour by some fluke? Her loyal heart, entirely devoid of selfish satisfaction, could not bear the thought of this grotesque and unhappy climax for her innocent venture. It was all her fault for meddling with what did not concern her. What business had she to write a better story than Godfrey, anyway? She knew that her husband would be honestly proud of her success and would not grudge her the triumph for an instant, but she felt that the poignance of the situation would be intolerable for her. Much better do without all the pert little hats on Chestnut Street than win one at the expense of Godfrey's feelings.

How could she prevent the bad tidings from reaching him? Even now it might be too late. She flew to the telephone, and with pricking pulses asked for the office of the Colonial. One nervous hand unconsciously flew to her hair, as though she