And I read it with an augmenting irritation. Here was my great and comely idea transmuted by "George Glock"--which was the woman's foolish pen-name,--into a rather clever melodrama, and set forth anyhow, in a hit or miss style that fairly made me squirm. I would cheerfully have strangled Marian Winwood just then, and not upon the count of larceny, but of butchery.
"And to cap it all, she has assigned her hero every pretty speech I ever made to her! I honestly believe the rogue took shorthand jottings on her cuffs. 'There is a land where lovers may meet face to face, and heart to heart, and mouth to mouth'--why, that's the note I wrote her on the day she wasn't feeling well!"
Presently, however, I began to laugh, and presently sitting there alone, I began to applaud as if I were witnessing a play that took my fancy.
"Oh, the adorable jade!" I said; and then: "George Glock, forsooth! George Dandin, tu l' as voulu."
