"Who'll print it?" I demanded.
"Oh, some magazine," she said.
"Do you think this kind of thing would interest their readers?"
"It would interest me——"
"Thank you. I'll tell the editors that."
"You'll do no such thing," she said severely. "You'll tell the magazine editors, please, that I'm only one of thousands of girls who are getting sick and tired of the happy, cheery little tales they print for our special benefit. It's just about time they got over the habit of thinking of us as sweet, young things and gave us some roots we can grow on."
Another modern girl, I thought.
"Do you, too, want to vote?" I asked her, with a fine, indulgent irony.
"Some day I do," she answered. And then she added with placid scorn, "When I've learned all the political wisdom that you have to teach me." And as if that were a good place to stop, she rose from her seat.
"The others seem to have left us," she said. "I think I'd better be going home."