'
'I happen to know Mrs Boston Wright, who edits it. Met her at a
house the other day, and told her frankly that she would have to
give my sisters something to do. It's the only way to get on; one
has to take it for granted that people are willing to help you. I
have made a host of new acquaintances just lately.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' said Marian.
'Do you know--but how should you? I am going to write for the new
magazine, The Current.'
'Indeed!'
'Edited by that man Fadge.'
'Yes.'
'Your father has no affection for him, I know.'
'He has no reason to have, Mr Milvain.'
'No, no. Fadge is an offensive fellow, when he likes; and I fancy
he very often does like. Well, I must make what use of him I can.
You won't think worse of me because I write for him?'
'I know that one can't exercise choice in such things.'
'True. I shouldn't like to think that you regard me as a Fadge-
like individual, a natural Fadgeite.'
Marian laughed.
'There's no danger of my thinking that.'
But the fog was making their eyes water and getting into their
throats.
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