"I do," replied Jack, carelessly. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. In fact, it had been anciently the right hand postern under the gate leading towards the city. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. 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.
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