The Wilmington daily Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1890-1902, 1899-05-10
CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER VIII.
ALAN STACEY, THE NOVELIST
It was with beating heart filed
with nervousness and apprehension that
Mary Conway found herself waiting at
the house of Alan Stacey, the novelist.
in Fnlham.
1t was evidently a somewhat old
house and was inclosed in high walled
garden. II was at the gate Of this gar
den door that she waited patiently after
giving a humble pull ut the handle of
the bell. such as she would not have
given at the door Of duke. At last she
rang again, and then her summons at
tracted attention. She heard footsteps
on the other sideof thsdoor, ard then it
was flung open, and man in the usual
decorous garb Of a servant stood to hear
what she wanted.
"Does Mr.. Alan Stacey live hers9"
she asked.
tYes, ma am
''Is he at homer"
"Mr. Stacey is not out, ma am, the
man replied, "but he does not usually
see any one at this hour. Mr.. Stacey il
in his study, ma'am.
''Still think he will see me, said
Mary, eagerly, "if you will give him
this card.
"Walk this way, ma am" said the
man. taking the card between his finger
and thumb in the peculiar manner Of a
well trained servant.
He led the way down broad tagged
pathway which led to the house. 1t was
covered by kind of veranda, and on
either side charming garden spread
until bounded by the old wall. 1t was
a charming garden, rich in ancient,
messy turf and gay with many flowers.
All manner Of creepers intwined them
selves about the pillars which supported
the sheltering roof overhead, and great
hydrangeas bloomed at the bases of
them.
The house was long and low, had
long windows opening like doors and
wide veranda running its tAtire length.
This veranda was paved with brilliant
colored tiles, on which were flung here
and there rich looking rugs. Huge easy
chairs, wicker tables and hammock
made pleasant lounge, and there were
Towering plants everywhere.
"Will you take seat here, ma 'am?"
said the man, indicating large chair.
II will inquire if Mr.. Stacey will see
you
Mary sat down, and he disappeared
into the house. She sat drinking in the
pleasant scene, doubly pleasant after
the arid stretches of Bloomsbury brick
and mortar, to which she was accus-
toned. To her it seemed like sylvan
retreat far, far away from the rush and
turmoil Of cities where strife lives. She
could hear her first acquaintance, the
servant, speaking and mans tones
answering:
"All right. I'll come out, )" said the
man voice.
The next moment tall man in light
gray clothing came out by the window.
Mary was in Alan Stacey's presence.
"Mrs. Conway" he said, looking at
the card in his hand and then at her.
Mary sprang to her feet. Eyes I am
Mrs. Conway" she said TREMENDOUSLY.
"Messrs Bloomingby thought that
should suit you"
Gas typist?''
"And stenographer, she added
quickly.
pray sit down." said Alan Stacey
kindly and himself pulled chair near
enough to talk with ease. "What is
your speed as shorthand writer?'
"a hundred and twenty"
Good You look intelligent, which
is more to the point. Have you been
with any author before?'
'No" answered Mary; 81 have been
with a solicitor, and that, of course,
was work needing great care and pre-
Cision.'
"Ah, yesl And why did you leave
hinY'
II did not leave him." she replied.
unfortunately for me, he died"
II see. Do You think you would like
my kind Of work."
"Yes," said she promptly.
II am not very easy to work with.
I'm as crochetty az most other literary
men" Mr.. Stacey said. II have just
got rid of a man, an excellent fellow,
for no reason than that he sat on the
edge of his chair and waited. would
have forgiven him many things, but
his waiting became oppressive 1t killed
every idea had. Before that had
young lady. She knew Shakespeare by
heart and could quote Xenophon, but