Defeated in his campaign against the fingers before it had begun, Richard was driven to discuss Dorothy's work-a-day resolves.
"Newspaper work?
Do society, I suppose ?" Richard had gotten hold of the idioms of the craft, and spoke of "doing society" as though reared among the types.
"No, not society," and Dorothy shook her head.

"I'd pick 'em to pieces, the minxes; and the papers don't want that.

No, I'm going to learn about politics with Uncle Pat.

I shall write politics.

You must teach me." Richard said he would.
"Only you should know," said he, "that I need a deal of teaching myself." "But you can write!" cried Dorothy, her hands emerging from their retreat to clasp each other in a glow of admiration.