“It isn’t such a bad place to be,” he said, relieved to meet her on the new ground.
“It’s a goal,” she declared. “Half of the aspiring gilded youth of the city would give their eye-teeth to make it. How did you manage?”
“I didn’t manage. It was managed for me. Old Poultney Masters put me in.”
“Well, don’t scowl at me! For a reporter, you know, it’s rather an achievement to get into The Retreat.”
“I suppose so. Though I’m not a reporter now.”
“Well, for any newspaper man. What are you, by the way?”
“A sort of all-round experimental editor.”
“I hadn’t heard of that,” said Io, with a quickness which apprised him that she had been seeking information about him.
“Nobody has. It’s only just happened.”
“And I’m the first to know of it? That’s as it should be,” she asserted calmly. “You shall tell me all about it at dinner.”