Again the dun pony jumped, this time because a sudden involuntary contraction of his rider’s muscles had startled him. “What do you know of Delavan Eyre, Miss Van Arsdale?”
“I occasionally see a New York newspaper.”
“Then you know who I am, too?”
“Yes. You are the pet of the society column paragraphers; the famous Io’ Welland.” She spoke with a curious intonation.
“Ah, you read the society news?”
“With a qualmish stomach. I see the names of those whom I used to know advertising themselves in the papers as if they had a shaving-soap or a chewing-gum to sell.”
“Part of the game,” returned the girl airily. “The newcomers, the climbers, would give their souls to get the place in print that we get without an effort.”
“Doesn’t it seem to you a bit vulgar?” asked the other.
“Perhaps. But it’s the way the game is played nowadays.”
“With counters which you have let the parvenues establish for you. In my day we tried to keep out of the papers.”