WHEN PIPPA PASSED
"But no one would laugh, I assure you, Mr. West," Anne murmured, stooping to pick up a scattered sheet.
He hardly noticed her. His eyes were fixed constantly on Delafield: the girl had made no impression upon him whatever. Nor did the elegance of the furnishings, the evidences of great wealth everywhere arouse in him the least apparent curiosity. Having no knowledge of the many grades of material prosperity between his own meagre surroundings and Anne Delafield's luxury, he accepted the one as he had endured the other, his mind quite removed from either, his eyes looking beyond.
Anne had supposed that her uncle would carry the poems to one of the leading magazines, but he pooh-poohed the idea.
"I think not. We're not going to have the boy mixed up with the hacks that turn out two or three inches of rhymes to fill up a page in a magazine," he declared. "We'll have D drop in some night and West shall read 'em to him. Then we'll bring out a book. Here and in England
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