"I suppose it's brainy," said Maggy, handing it back. "It doesn't sound a bit like you though. I hope I'm not a wet blanket, but I think you'll get sick of the crumply plop it will make coming back through the letter-box. It's not what you ever see in the papers. You may ask things about inferior flannelette or horrid sausages or white slaves, and it's all right. But the truth about the stage! Well, there, it's written now, so you may as well post it; but if I were you, I'd go and see the editor in the morning before he's had time to read it."
"Why?" enquired Alexandra innocently.
"Well ... if he's young—and impressionable—it might— No, on second thoughts, don't."
Tea came in. By the side of the teapot Mrs. Bell had ostentatiously placed a small medicine bottle. She had also provided what purported to be a cake.
"I sent out for 'three' of gin," she said, beaming placidly at the bottle.
"Whatever for?" demanded Alexandra.
"For a dash in your tea, dear. Seeing as how you've just come from a funeral—"
Alexandra's face showed a repugnance. Mrs. Bell looked grieved. Maggy intervened.
"Miss Hersey only drinks champagne now," she said cheerily. "Doctor's orders. And I've sworn off. You trot off with it downstairs. Gin's good for landladies."
XXVII