“Not of this new one of yours.  He’s worse than Gurney.  Who is he and where does he come from?”

“An inconsiderable hamlet known as Chicago.  Name, Allan Haslett.  Dramatic criticism out there is still so unsophisticated as to be intelligent as well as honest—­at its best.”

“Which it isn’t here,” commented the special pet of the theatrical reviewers.

“Well, I thought a good new man would be better than the good old ones.  Less hampered by personal considerations.  So I sent and got this one.”

“But he isn’t good.  He’s a horrid beast.  We’ve been specially nice to him, on your account mostly—­Ban, if you grin that way I shall hate you!  I had Bezdek invite him to one of the rehearsal suppers and he wouldn’t come.  Sent word that theatrical suppers affected his eyesight when he came to see the play.”

Banneker chuckled.  “Just why I got him.  He doesn’t let the personal element prejudice him.”

“He is prejudiced.  And most unfair.  Ban,” said Betty in her most seductive tones, “do call him down.  Make him write something decent about us.  Bez is fearfully upset.”

Banneker sighed.  “The curse of this business,” he reflected aloud, “is that every one regards The Patriot as my personal toy for me or my friends to play with.”

“This isn’t play at all.  It’s very much earnest.  Do be nice about it, Ban.”

“Betty, do you remember a dinner party in the first days of our acquaintance, at which I told you that you represented one essential difference from all the other women there?”

“Yes.  I thought you were terribly presuming.”

“I told you that you were probably the only woman present who wasn’t purchasable.”

“Not understanding you as well as I do now, I was quite shocked.  Besides, it was so unfair.  Nearly all of them were most respectable married people.”

“Bought by their most respectable husbands.  Some of ’em bought away from other husbands.  But I gave you credit for not being on that market—­or any other.  And now you’re trying to corrupt my professional virtue.”

“Ban!  I’m not.”

“What else is it when you try to use your influence to have me fire our nice, new critic?”

“If that’s being corruptible, I wonder if any of us are incorruptible.”  She stretched upward an idle hand and fondled a spray of freesia that drooped against her cheek.  “Ban; there’s something I’ve been waiting to tell you.  Tertius Marrineal wants to marry me.”

“I’ve suspected as much.  That would settle the obnoxious critic, wouldn’t it!  Though it’s rather a roundabout way.”

“Ban!  You’re beastly.”

“Yes; I apologize,” he replied quickly.  “But—­have I got to revise my estimate of you, Betty?  I should hate to.”

“Your estimate?  Oh, as to purchasability.  That’s worse than what you’ve just said.  Yet, somehow, I don’t resent it.  Because it’s honest, I suppose,” she said pensively.  “No:  it wouldn’t be a—­a market deal.  I like Tertius.  I like him a lot.  I won’t pretend that I’m madly in love with him.  But—­”