authorship, tell her of his real purpose in coming to Baldpate, and urge her to confide in him re garding the odd happenings at the inn.
"Yes," said the girl before he could continue, "I did read it. And it hurt me. It was so terribly insincere. The man had talent who wrote it, but he seemed to say: 'It's all a great big joke. I don't believe in these people myself. I've just created them to make them dance for you. Don't be fooled—it's only a novel.' I don't like that sort of thing. I want a writer really to mean all he says from the bottom of his heart."
Mr. Magee bit his lip. His determination to claim the authorship of The Lost Limousine was quite gone.
"I want him to make me feel with his people," the girl went on seriously. "Perhaps I can explain by telling you of something that happened to me once. It was while I was at college. There was a blind girl in my class and one night I went to call on her. I met her in the corridor of her dormi tory. Somebody had just brought her back from an evening lecture, and left her there. She un- locked her door, and we went in. It was pitch
