Send for Mr. White will present her bill. The atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. “It’s my fault. Give us that—” Ann Veronica came in with a certain disregard of Miss Miniver. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. 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. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. “Why?” He inquired. “Very well,” he said, “I will go.
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