She reserved her rings with the
distinct purpose of having the experience again. Then
she made a substantial lunch at a rather expensive
restaurant. "It isn't time yet," she thought, "for crusts
and dripping," and tipped the waiter a shilling, telling
him to get her a cab. As she turned into the Strand she
told the cabman to drive slowly, and made him stop at
the first newspaper office she saw. As she alighted a
sense of her extravagance dawned upon her, and she paid
the man off. Then she made a resolutely charming ascent
to the editorial rooms of the _Illustrated Age_.
Twenty minutes later she came down again, and the door
was opened for her by Mr. Arthur Rattray, one of the
sub-editors, a young man who had already distinguished
himself on the staff of the _Age_ by his intelligent
perception of paying matter, and his enterprise in securing
it. Elfrida continued to carry her opinions upon the
social ideals of her native democracy in their much
stained envelope, but there was a light in her eyes which
seemed to be the reflection of success.
"It's still raining," said the young man cheerfully.
"So it is," Elfrida responded. "And--oh, how atrocious
of me!--I've left my umbrella in the cab!"
"Hard luck!" exclaimed Mr.
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