“Oh, virtuous poverty. You're not thinking of becoming a newspaper woman, Miss Pasmer!”
“Why not?” She put the final cluster into the bunch in hand, and began to wind a withe of sweet-grass around the stems. He dropped forward on his knees to help her, and together they managed the knot. They were both flushed a little when it was tied, and were serious.
“Why shouldn't one be a newspaper woman, if Harvard graduates are to be journalists?”
“Well, you know, only a certain kind are.”
“What kind?”
“Well, not exactly what you'd call the gentlemanly sort.”
“I thought Mr. Boardman was a great friend of yours?”
“He is. He is one of the best fellows in the world. But you must have seen that he wasn't a swell.”
“I should think he'd be glad he was doing something at once. If I were a—” She stopped, and they laughed together. “I mean that I should hate to be so long getting ready to do something as men are.”
“Then you'd rather begin making wall-paper at once than studying law?”