She never cared to loll, and the shaded light from the electric sconces upon the mantelpiece illumined her.
"If the world were properly stage-managed, that's what you ought to be," he said, "the wife of a Prime Minister.

I can see you giving such an excellent performance." "I must talk to Mary," he added, "see if we can't get you off on some promising young Under Secretary." "Don't give me ideas above my station," laughed Joan.

"I'm a journalist." "That's the pity of it," he said.

"You're wasting the most important thing about you, your personality.

You would do more good in a drawing- room, influencing the rulers, than you will ever do hiding behind a pen.
It was the drawing-room that made the French Revolution." The firelight played about her hair.