A very cold bow was the only answer.

“I happen to know that Northern magazines are not composed of gratuitous contributions; and it is no mystery why Southern authors are driven to Northern publishers.  Southern periodicals are mediums only for those of elegant leisure, who can afford to write without remuneration.  With the same subscription price, you cannot pay for your articles.  It is no marvel that, under such circumstances, we have no Southern literature.  Unluckily, I belong to the numerous class who have to look away from home for remuneration.  Sir, I will not trouble you with my manuscript.”  Rising, she held out her hand for it; but the keen eyes had fallen upon a paragraph which seemed to interest the editor, and, knitting his brows, he said reluctantly: 

“We have not been in the habit of paying for our articles; but I will look over this, and perhaps you can make it worth our while to pay you.  The fact is, madam, we have more trash sent us than we can find room for; but if you can contribute anything of weight, why, it will make a difference, of course.  I did not recognize you at first, but I now remember that I heard your valedictory to the graduating class of the public schools.  If we should conclude to pay you for regular contributions, we wish nothing said about it.”

“Very well.  If you like the manuscript, and decide to pay me, you can address me a note through the post office.  Should I write for the magazine I particularly desire not to be known.”  She lowered her veil, and most politely he bowed her out.

She was accustomed to spend a portion of each Saturday in practicing duets with Georgia Asbury, and thither she now directed her steps.  Unluckily, the parlor was full of visitors, and, without seeing any of the family, she walked back into the music room.  Here she felt perfectly at home, and, closing the door, forgot everything but her music.  Taking no heed of the lapse of time, she played piece after piece, until startled by the clear tones of the doctor’s voice.  She looked up, and saw him standing in the door which opened into the library, taking off his greatcoat.

“Why Beulah, that room is as cold as a Texas norther!  What on earth are you doing there without a fire?  Come in here, child, and warm your frozen digits.  Where are those two harum-scarum specimens of mine?”

“I believe they are still entertaining company, sir.  The parlor was full when I came, and they know nothing of my being here.”  She sat down by the bright fire, and held her stiff fingers toward the glowing coals.

“Yes, confound their dear rattlepates; that is about the sum-total of their cogitations.”  He drew up his chair, put his feet on the fender of the grate, and, lighting his cigar, added: 

“Is my spouse also in the parlor?”

“I suppose so, sir.”