"There's something in that," said the girl reflectively. "After all,
you might know somebody. Well, as you want to know, I have just been
discharged from a paper called 'Squibs.' I used to edit the Woman's
Page."

"By Jove, did you write that article on 'Men Who Speak----'?"

The hard manner in which she had wrapped herself as in a garment
vanished instantly. Her eyes softened. She even blushed. Just a
becoming pink, you know!

"You don't mean to say you read it? I didn't think that any one ever
really read 'Squibs.'"

"Read it!" cried Roland, recklessly abandoning truth. "I should jolly
well think so. I know it by heart. Do you mean to say that, after an
article like that, they actually sacked you? Threw you out as a
failure?"

"Oh, they didn't send me away for incompetence. It was simply because
they couldn't afford to keep me on. Mr. Petheram was very nice about
it."

"Who's Mr. Petheram?"

"Mr. Petheram's everything. He calls himself the editor, but he's
really everything except office-boy, and I expect he'll be that next
week. When I started with the paper, there was quite a large staff. But
it got whittled down by degrees till there was only Mr. Petheram and
myself. It was like the crew of the 'Nancy Bell.' They got eaten one by