She said, 'Is it any use my sending you anything for the Fact?
'From the enemy's camp?' I smiled at her. She smiled too.
'I've not ratted, you know. I'm still an A.P. I shall come on the next tour of investigation, whenever that is.'
'Shall you write for the Haste?' I asked her.
'Sometimes, I expect. Oliver says he can get me some of the reviewing. And occasional non-controversial articles. But I don't want to be tied up with it; I want to write for other papers too…. You take Johnny's poetry, I observe.'
'Sometimes. That's Peacock's fault, not mine. … Send along anything you think may suit, by all means, and we'll consider it. You'll most likely get it back—if you remember to enclose a stamped envelope. … Good-night, and thank you for asking me to your party. Good-night, Hobart.'
I said good-bye to Lady Pinkerton, and went back to the Fact office, for it was press night.
So Jane got married.