not to mourn his loss, Betty."

"But I do. At least, I'm afraid I'm going to. Do you know who the new
critic is?"

"No. Do you? And how do you? Oh, I suppose I ought to understand that,
though," he added, annoyed that so important a change should have been
kept secret from him.

With characteristic directness she replied, "You mean Tertius
Marrineal?"

"Naturally."

"That's all off."

"Betty! Your engagement to him?"

"So far as there ever was any."

"Is it really off? Or have you only quarreled?"

"Oh, no. I can't imagine myself quarreling with Tertius. He's too
impersonal. For the same reason, and others, I can't see myself marrying
him."

"But you must have considered it, for a time."

"Not very profoundly. I don't want to marry a newspaper. Particularly
such a newspaper as The Patriot. For that matter, I don't want to marry
anybody, and I won't!"

"That being disposed of, what's the matter with The Patriot? It's been
treating you with distinguished courtesy ever since Marrineal took over
charge."

"It has. That's part of his newspaperishness."

"From our review of your new play I judge that it was written by the
shade of Shakespeare in collaboration with the ghost of Moliere, and
that your acting in it combines all the genius of Rachel, Kean, Booth,
Mrs. Siddons, and the Divine Sarah."

"This is no laughing matter," she protested. "Have you seen the play?"

"No. I'll go to-night."

"Don't. It's rotten."

"Heavens!" he cried in mock dismay. "What does this mean? Our most
brilliant young--"

"And I'm as bad as the play--almost. The part doesn't fit me. It's a
fool part."

"Are you quarreling with The Patriot because it has tempered justice
with mercy in your case?"

"Mercy? With slush. Slathering slush."

"Come to my aid, Memory! Was it not a certain Miss Raleigh who aforetime
denounced the ruffian Gurney for that he vented his wit upon a play in
which she appeared. And now, because--"

"Yes; it was. I've no use for the smart-aleck school of criticism. But,
at least, what Gurney wrote was his own. And Haslett, even if he is an
old grouch, was honest. You couldn't buy their opinions over the
counter."

Banneker frowned. "I think you'd better explain, Betty."

"Do you know Gene Zucker?"

"Never heard of him."

"He's a worm. A fat, wiggly, soft worm from Boston. But he's got an
idea."

"And that is?"

"I'll tell you in a moment." She leaned forward fixing him with the
honest cl