round him, formed the chief topic of discussion at
the council-board of most new papers, _Good Humour_ amongst the number.

"I have heard," said Miss Ramsbotham, who wrote the Letter to Clorinda
that filled each week the last two pages of _Good Humour_, and that told
Clorinda, who lived secluded in the country, the daily history of the
highest class society, among whom Miss Ramsbotham appeared to live and
have her being; who they were, and what they wore, the wise and otherwise
things they did--"I have heard," said Miss Ramsbotham one morning, Jowett
being as usual the subject under debate, "that the old man is susceptible
to female influence."

"What I have always thought," said Clodd. "A lady advertising-agent
might do well. At all events, they couldn't kick her out."

"They might in the end," thought Peter. "Female door-porters would
become a profession for muscular ladies if ever the idea took root."

"The first one would get a good start, anyhow," thought Clodd.

The sub-editor had pricked up her ears. Once upon a time, long ago, the
sub-editor had succeeded, when all other London journalists had failed,
in securing an interview with a certain great statesman. The sub-editor
had never forgotten this--nor allowed anyone else to forget it.

"I believe I could get it for you," said the sub-editor.

The editor and the business-manager both spoke together. They spoke with
decision and with emphasis.

"Why not?" said the sub-editor. "When nobody else could get at him, it
was I who interviewed Prince--"

"We've heard all about that," interrupted the business-manager. "If I
had been your father at the time, you would never have done it."

"How could I have stopped her?" retorted Peter Hope. "She never said a
word to me."

"You could have kept an eye on her."

"Kept an eye on her! When you've got a girl of your own, you'll know
more about them."

"When I have," asserted Clodd, "I'll manage her."

"We know all about bachelor's children," sneered Peter Hope, the editor.

"You leave it to me. I'll have it for you before the end of the week,"
crowed the sub-editor.

"If you do get it," returned Clodd, "I shall throw it out, that's all."

"You said yourself a lady advertising-agent would be a good idea," the
sub-editor reminded him.

"So she might be," returned Clodd; "but she isn't going to be you."

"Why not?"

"Because she isn't, that's why."

"But if--"

"See you at the printer's at twe