This was a new aspect of Alexandra. It mystified Maggy.
"But can you write?" she asked doubtfully.
"I—I think so. At least I've made a beginning."
"It seems so funny. Fred says that actresses can't write. All those things you see in the magazines and the Jockey's Weekly by actresses all about themselves, with photos stuck in between, aren't written by them. The printer does it."
"Not the printer, surely?"
"Well, the man from the paper. It's all the same. I've been interviewed and I know. All I did was to sign my name at the end. It came out in The Housewife."
"What I meant was a serious article. Something true."
"But nobody wants to read anything serious about the stage," Maggy contended. "It's for pleasure.... Fancy you writing! Do let me see what you've done, Lexie."
Alexandra went over to the chest of drawers and came back with her article. It was in manuscript. She handed it over shyly.
"Why, it's pages and pages!" exclaimed Maggy, with the bewilderment of one to whom the space on a postcard presents difficulties.