"Of course it'll limit it. Still, it's not easy to keep honest if you go in for politics."
"I see. Rather than not be honest you prefer to limit your circulation?"
He blushed like a man detected in some meanness; the supreme meanness of vaunting his own honesty.
"Oh, well, I don't know about that. Politics means my brother-in-law. If I keep them out I keep him out, and run the thing my own way. I dare say that's all there is in it."
Certainly she liked him. He struck her as powerful and determined. With his magazine, he had the air of charging, sublimely, at the head of the forlorn hope of literature.
"It's taken me all this time to get the capital together. But I've got it."
"Yes. You would get it."
He looked up gravely inquiring.
"You strike me as being able to get things."
He flushed with pleasure. "Do I? I don't know. If I can get the authors I want I believe I can make the magazine one of the big things of the century." He said it quietly, as if inspired by caution rather than enthusiasm. "They'll make it—if I can get them."