She was reconciled now to the photograph idea--was even keen on it herself.

She would be taken full face so that she would be looking straight into the eyes of her readers as she talked to them.

It would compel her to be herself; just a hopeful, loving woman: a little better educated than the majority, having had greater opportunity: a little further seeing, maybe, having had more leisure for thought: but otherwise, no whit superior to any other young, eager woman of the people.

This absurd journalistic pose of omniscience, of infallibility--this non-existent garment of supreme wisdom that, like the King's clothes in the fairy story, was donned to hide his nakedness by every strutting nonentity of Fleet Street! She would have no use for it.
It should be a friend, a comrade, a fellow-servant of the great Master, taking counsel with them, asking their help.

Government by the people for the people! It must be made real.