"No, thank you. I think not. This will make a very interesting and acceptable article, I am sure. But, before I go, would you mind telling me what you think of Browning?"
"The greatest poet of the century," Cicely replied glibly, mindful of local prejudice.
"And your favorite poem?" he asked insinuatingly.
Then at last Cicely floundered, for she was quite beyond her depth.
"I think the Rubaiyát is by far the best," she said gravely, and her querist received the announcement in perfect good faith.
It was some weeks afterwards that Theodora, turning over her mail, came upon a marked copy of the Intermountain.
"What in the world is this?" she said in astonishment. "I never heard of the paper."
She opened it, and then she gasped. Upon the first page appeared a woodcut, evidently culled from the advertising department, and beneath it these headlines:
"Interview with Mrs. Theodora Farrington.
Alone with Her Tea-Kettle.
The Famous Young Author Works by Night.
The Inspiration of Genius by the Hob."
Theodora read it through, carefully, deliberately, down to the final statements in regard to Browning. She wondered at first. Then the light dawned upon her, as she came upon a carefully-turned phrase descriptive of "the little grey dog, the constant companion of his gifted mistress," and she looked up.