THE BETTER SORT
traceably what inspired something she said in the draughty porch, after the performance, while the footman of the friend, a fat, rich, immensely pleased lady, who had given her a lift and then rejoined her from a seat in the balcony, went off to make sure of the brougham. "May I do something about your things?"
"'Do something'?"
"When I've paid you my visit. Write something—about your pictures. I do a correspondence," said Mrs. Harvey.
He wondered as she had done in the stalls. "For a paper?"
"The Blackport Banner. A 'London Letter.' The new books, the new plays, the new twaddle of any sort—a little music, a little gossip, a little 'art.' You'll help me—I need it awfully—with the art. I do three a month."
"You—wonderful you?" He spoke as Lady Claude had done, and could no more help it again than Mrs. Harvey had been able to help it in the stalls.
"Oh, as you say, for the fee!" On which, as the footman signalled, her old lady began to plunge through the crowd.
IV
At the studio, where she came to him within the week, her first movement had been to exclaim on the splendid abundance of his work. She had looked round charmed—so struck as to be, as she called it, crushed. "You've such a wonderful lot to show."
"Indeed, I have!" said Stuart Straith.
"That's where you beat us."
"I think it may very well be," he went on, "where I beat almost everyone."
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