“A woman’s reputation?”
“No; a man’s.”
“That is to be regretted,” said Straws. “If, now, it were only a woman’s––.However, it’s the next best thing to start the town a-gossiping. I am much obliged to you for taking the trouble of calling. All those stairs to climb, too!”
“I was sure you would be glad to hear of it,” remarked the patroon, slowly, studying with his bright, insolent glance, the pale, intellectual face of the scribbler.
“Yes; there’s only one thing stands in the way.”
“And that?”
“I never publish anything I don’t believe. Don’t misunderstand me, please.” Pouring out a glass of wine. “Unfortunately I am so incredulous! Isn’t it a pity? I am such a carping cynic; a regular skeptic that follows the old adage, ‘Believe that story false that ought not to be true.’ It’s such a detriment to my work, too! A pretty scandal at the top of my column would make me famous, while a sprinkling of libels and lampoons would enable me to move down a story or two. But, after all, I’d feel lost in the luxury of a first floor front chamber. So, you see, nature adjusts herself to our needs.”
“Makes the shell to fit the snail, as it were,” commented the land baron, patronizingly, gazing around the little cupboard of a room. “At any rate,” he added, in an effort to hide his dissatisfaction, “it’s a pleasure to become better acquainted with such a––what shall I say?––whimsical fellow as yourself?”