Astro laughed. "There doesn't seem to be any other, yet; and there was something queer in the way he looked at her."
"How did he look at her?"
"This way."
But Valeska, seeing too well what was in his eyes, turned away her own. "Well, I'll read the book," she remarked, leaving.
"And I'll read the letters again."
There were, Valeska found, three "graciles," one "jimp," and two "nuances" in Askerson's novel. In connection with their recurrence in the letters, the coincidence might mean anything or nothing. What was more important was to get a sample of Askerson's typewriting; and to this end Valeska, in the guise of a stenographer in search of work, visited him.
She found Askerson to be the farthest removed from her preconceived idea of a novelist. He was a short, round, and chubby, seraphic-looking young man, with light curly hair and the mien of a preternaturally solemn child. His earnestness seemed absurd masquerading in this juvenile guise; but, once that inconsistency was forgotten, under the spell of his mental power, she found him a most interesting man. He was in the midst of his work, dressed in a pink silk shirt and white duck trousers, his hair a mass of light wavy locks over his eyes, smoking a brier pipe.
He assured her that, though he would like to employ a secretary, he could not afford it. Besides, he was engaged in dramatizing The Guerdon, and had to work it out himself on his machine, inch by inch.
