“Winifred,” he said, “I have got a letter from the editor of Vanity Fair.”
“Oh!”
“He wishes me to permit a caricature of myself to appear in his pages.”
Winifred’s fingers closed sharply on the letter she had just been reading. A decision of hers in regard to the writer of it was hanging in the balance, though Eustace did not know it.
“Well?” said Eustace, inquiring of her silence.
“What are you going to reply?” she asked.
“I am wondering.”
She chipped an eggshell and took a bit of dry toast.
“All those who appear in Vanity Fair are celebrated, aren’t they?” she said.
“I suppose so,” Eustace said.