The Reverberator | Page 3

the meanest!"
he rang out.
"Where's the meanness when I suppose you're not so ridiculous as to

wish to be anything more!"
"More to your sister, do you mean--or to yourself?"
"My sister IS myself--I haven't got any other," said Delia Dosson.
"Any other sister?"
"Don't be idiotic. Are you still in the same business?" the girl went on.
"Well, I forget which one I WAS in."
"Why, something to do with that newspaper--don't you remember?"
"Yes, but it isn't that paper any more--it's a different one."
"Do you go round for news--in the same way?"
"Well, I try to get the people what they want. It's hard work," said the
young man.
"Well, I suppose if you didn't some one else would. They will have it,
won't they?"
"Yes, they will have it." The wants of the people, however, appeared at
the present moment to interest Mr. Flack less than his own. He looked
at his watch and remarked that the old gentleman didn't seem to have
much authority.
"What do you mean by that?" the girl asked.
"Why with Miss Francie. She's taking her time, or rather, I mean, she's
taking mine."
"Well, if you expect to do anything with her you must give her plenty
of that," Delia returned.
"All right: I'll give her all I have." And Miss Dosson's interlocutor
leaned back in his chair with folded arms, as to signify how much, if it
came to that, she might have to count with his patience. But she sat
there easy and empty, giving no sign and fearing no future. He was the
first indeed to turn again to restlessness: at the end of a few moments
he asked the young lady if she didn't suppose her father had told her
sister who it was.
"Do you think that's all that's required?" she made answer with cold
gaiety. But she added more familiarly: "Probably that's the reason.
She's so shy."
"Oh yes--she used to look it."
"No, that's her peculiarity, that she never looks it and yet suffers
everything."
"Well, you make it up for her then, Miss Delia," the young man
ventured to declare. "You don't suffer much."

"No, for Francie I'm all there. I guess I could act for her."
He had a pause. "You act for her too much. If it wasn't for you I think I
could do something."
"Well, you've got to kill me first!" Delia Dosson replied.
"I'll come down on you somehow in the Reverberator" he went on.
But the threat left her calm. "Oh that's not what the people want."
"No, unfortunately they don't care anything about MY affairs."
"Well, we do: we're kinder than most, Francie and I," said the girl. "But
we desire to keep your affairs quite distinct from ours."
"Oh your--yours: if I could only discover what they are!" cried George
Flack. And during the rest of the time that they waited the young
journalist tried to find out. If an observer had chanced to be present for
the quarter of an hour that elapsed, and had had any attention to give to
these vulgar young persons, he would have wondered perhaps at there
being so much mystery on one side and so much curiosity on the
other--wondered at least at the elaboration of inscrutable projects on the
part of a girl who looked to the casual eye as if she were stolidly
passive. Fidelia Dosson, whose name had been shortened, was
twenty-five years old and had a large white face, in which the eyes
were far apart. Her forehead was high but her mouth was small, her hair
was light and colourless and a certain inelegant thickness of figure
made her appear shorter than she was. Elegance indeed had not been
her natural portion, and the Bon Marche and other establishments had
to make up for that. To a casual sister's eye they would scarce have
appeared to have acquitted themselves of their office, but even a
woman wouldn't have guessed how little Fidelia cared. She always
looked the same; all the contrivances of Paris couldn't fill out that blank,
and she held them, for herself, in no manner of esteem. It was a plain
clean round pattern face, marked for recognition among so many only
perhaps by a small figure, the sprig on a china plate, that might have
denoted deep obstinacy; and yet, with its settled smoothness, it was
neither stupid nor hard. It was as calm as a room kept dusted and aired
for candid earnest occasions, the meeting of unanimous committees and
the discussion of flourishing businesses. If she had been a young
man--and she had a little the head of one--it would probably have been
thought of her that she was likely to become a Doctor or a Judge.
An