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"
Are
n't
you
?
"
I
demanded
.
She
acknowledged
her
identity
with
a
nod
.
It
was
Wolf
Larsen
's
turn
to
be
puzzled
.
The
name
and
its
magic
signified
nothing
to
him
.
I
was
proud
that
it
did
mean
something
to
me
,
and
for
the
first
time
in
a
weary
while
I
was
convincingly
conscious
of
a
superiority
over
him
.
"
I
remember
writing
a
review
of
a
thin
little
volume
--
"
I
had
begun
carelessly
,
when
she
interrupted
me
.
"
You
!
"
she
cried
.
"
You
are
--
"
She
was
now
staring
at
me
in
wide-eyed
wonder
.
I
nodded
my
identity
,
in
turn
.
"
Humphrey
Van
Weyden
,
"
she
concluded
;
then
added
with
a
sigh
of
relief
,
and
unaware
that
she
had
glanced
that
relief
at
Wolf
Larsen
,
"
I
am
so
glad
.
"
"
I
remember
the
review
,
"
she
went
on
hastily
,
becoming
aware
of
the
awkwardness
of
her
remark
;
"
that
too
,
too
flattering
review
.
"
"
Not
at
all
,
"
I
denied
valiantly
.
"
You
impeach
my
sober
judgment
and
make
my
canons
of
little
worth
.
Besides
,
all
my
brother
critics
were
with
me
.
Did
n't
Lang
include
your
'
Kiss
Endured
'
among
the
four
supreme
sonnets
by
women
in
the
English
language
?
"
"
But
you
called
me
the
American
Mrs.
Meynell
!
"
