“There is a thorn under that rose, I fancy. I can feel that you have no comprehension of how difficult some things have become. Take the strain we were under this afternoon. Probably I shouldn’t tell you—”
“Then you certainly must.”
“—but we had a dreadful squabble over the question as to whether we should stop letting in the reporters. That question has been coming up at least once a year in the Artemis. It is a delicious sensation to be quoted in eight papers, but it is gall and wormwood to have the hat you wore because it was raining described in one. The other day we found out that those delicately satirical things in the Dynamo have been written by the sweetest little girl you ever saw whom we always supposed was writing the lovely discriminating notices that appeared in the Flashlight. That turned the scale. We voted to be published no more.”
“What a beautiful story that will make for the Dynamo to-morrow.”
“Do you think so? But then they will be through.”
“Perhaps.”
“O, we are going to be very strict! The trouble is that the newspaper people would take some detached part of our meeting and it would look so queer. You see they have a great many meetings to go to.”