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. I shall count it a privilege. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. Mother and Son XI. I just want him, and no one else will do. I want you to be my wife. I never see them, they never even call. I hope that some day he'll understand how much he owes you.
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