“Do you write for the magazines?” inquired Phoebe.
“Is it possible you did not know it?” cried Holgrave.—“ Well; such is literary fame! Yes, Miss Phoebe Pyncheon, among the multitude of my marvellous gifts, I have that of writing stories; and my name has figured, I can assure you, on the covers of Graham and Godey, making as respectable an appearance, for aught I could see, as any of the canonized bead-roll with which it was associated. In the humorous line, I am thought to have a very pretty way with me; and as for pathos, I am as provocative of tears as an onion! But shall I read you my story?”
“Yes; if it is not very long,” said Phoebe—and added, laughingly—“ nor very dull!”
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