"That's not very enthusey. Unless"--and her whole face brightened--"you mean what you call your reading-chair. It threw me on to the floor and knelt on me only yesterday; and I know Aunt Anne----"
"Enid," I said sternly, "that's not the point."
"I was afraid not."
"The thing is, one must be in the swim. Everybody is offering things right and left now. Look at SUTHERLAND, DERBY--even LLOYD GEORGE."
"I didn't know they were friends of yours."
"Not exactly; but----"
"Then why so familiar?"
"My dear," I explained, "that is the point. Once get your name in the papers at the end of a two-column letter and you are the friend of all the world--it gives one an entrée to the castle of the Duke and the cottage of the crofter."
"Even before you've written it?"
"I have written it!"
"Oh, how splendid! Where?"
"In here," I said, tapping the best bit of my head.
"Oh, that!" And then, pensi