“Now, Mrs. Peele,” said Miss Merrien, “let us see if you are a good fakir. That is one of the first essentials of being a successful newspaper woman.”
“Oh, dear! Is it? If I could fake I’d make books. I’d like that even better. Rosita, did you ever tell the newspapers about that time I coached you for your first appearance on any stage, and the great hit you made?”
“What is that?” asked Miss Merrien, sharply.
“I never thought of it. Patita, you tell the story.”
This Patience did, while Miss Merrien wrote rapidly in shorthand, pausing occasionally to exclaim with rapture.
“Oh, my good angel sent me here this morning,” she said when Patience had finished. “I won’t mention your name, of course, but you won’t mind my saying that you are one of the Four Hundred.”
“I don’t suppose there is any objection. I am such an obscure member of it that no one will suspect me. Only don’t give any details.”
“Oh, I won’t, indeed I won’t.” She slipped her book into her muff and rose to go. “You don’t know how much obliged I am. I’ll do as much for you some day. If ever you want to be written up, let me know.”
“I never should want to be in the newspapers.”
“Oh, there’s no telling. You haven’t had a taste of it yet. Well, good-morning,” and she went out.