"I'm writing," Miss Peters replied.
"Writing?" echoed Miss Marlenspuyk.
"My father's in ve'y bad health, as I told you," the younger woman explained, "and I have to suppo't myself. So I write."
"But I don't think I've seen anything signed Peters in the magazines, have I?" asked the old maid.
"Oh, the magazines!" Miss Peters returned—"the magazines! I'm not old enough to have anything in the magazines yet. You have to wait so long for them to publish an article, even if they do accept it. But I get things into the weeklies sometimes. The first time I have a piece printed that I think you'd like, I'll send it to you, if I may."
"I will read it at once and with pleasure," Miss Marlenspuyk declared, cordially.
"I don't sign my own name yet," continued Miss Peters; "I use a pen-name. So perhaps you have read something of mine without knowing it."
"Perhaps I have, my child," said Miss Marlenspuyk. "I shall be on the lookout for you now. It must be delightful to be able to put your thoughts down in black and white, and send them forth to help make the world brighter and better."
Little Miss Peters laughed again, disclosing a fascinating dimple.
"I don't believe I shall ever write anything that will make the world better," she said; "and if I did, I don't believe the editor would take it. I don't think that is just what editors are after nowadays—do you? They're on the lookout for stuff that'll sell the paper."