pleasantries, and on this occasion they seemed more than usually
irrelevant.

"'Fast and Loose' was not written with the idea of a large sale."

Mrs. Clinch was unperturbed. "Perhaps that's just as well," she
returned, with a philosophic shrug. "The surprise will be all the
pleasanter, I mean. For of course it's going to sell tremendously;
especially if you can get the press to denounce it."

"Bella, how _can_ you? I sometimes think you say such things
expressly to tease me; and yet I should think you of all women would
understand my purpose in writing such a book. It has always seemed
to me that the message I had to deliver was not for myself alone,
but for all the other women in the world who have felt the
hollowness of our social shams, the ignominy of bowing down to the
idols of the market, but have lacked either the courage or the power
to proclaim their independence; and I have fancied, Bella dear, that,
however severely society might punish me for revealing its
weaknesses, I could count on the sympathy of those who, like
you"--Mrs. Fetherel's voice sank--"have passed through the deep
waters."

Mrs. Clinch gave herself a kind of canine shake, as though to free
her ample shoulders from any drop of the element she was supposed to
have traversed.

"Oh, call them muddy rather than deep," she returned; "and you'll
find, my dear, that women who've had any wading to do are rather shy
of stirring up mud. It sticks--especially on white clothes."