Trix had sent him a chapter for his approval; ‘written some time since, alas’, she must be in need of support. Her letter admitted as much, poor kid. He did not really see why, after getting that little ghost story of hers into the Christmas number of Black and White. And under her own name that time. ‘Mrs. Fleming’ could take the credit due to her. It was slight enough, and not exactly new, the dead lover who shows up at the ball, but that fancy was well taken, her bouquet turning up far away on the grave of the dead man. He had shuddered briefly at her account of the heroine ‘who was seen walking across the room alone, head a little inclined to the left as though she were talking to someone’.
When he thought about it, though, wasn’t that story she had written for the Christmas number of
