She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her. . ’ ‘How can you say so?’ protested Melusine. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table. ” She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in her wrinkled forehead. His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of detailed reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly equipped. She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood.
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