After the concert, Bartley left her for a moment, and went up to a group of the committee near the platform, to get some points for his report. He spoke to one of the gentlemen, note-book and pencil in hand, and the gentleman referred him to one of the ladies of the committee, who, after a moment of hesitation, demanded in a rich tone of injury and surprise, “Why! Isn't this Mr. Hubbard?” and, indignantly answering herself, “Of _course_ it is!” gave her hand with a sort of dramatic cordiality, and flooded him with questions: “When did you come to Boston? Are you at the Hallecks'? Did you come--Or no, you're _not_ Harvard. You're not _living_ in Boston? And what in the world are _you_ getting items for? Mr. Hubbard, Mr. Atherton.” She introduced him in a breathless climax to the gentleman to whom he had first spoken, and who had listened to her attack on Bartley with a smile which he was at no trouble to hide from her. “Which question are you going to answer first, Mr. Hubbard?” he asked quietly, while his eyes searched Bartley's for an instant with inquiry which was at once kind and keen. His face had the distinction which comes of being clean-shaven in our bearded times. “Oh, the last,” said Bartley. “I'm reporting the concert for the Chronicle-Abstract, and I want to interview some one in authority about it.” “Then interview _me_, Mr. Hubbard,” cried the young lady. “_I'm_ in authority about this affair,--it's my own invention, as the White Knight says,--and then I'll interview you afterwards. And you've gone into journalism, like all the Harvard men! So glad it's you, for you can be a perfect godsend to the cause if you will. The entertainment hasn't given us all the money we shall want, by any means, and we shall need all the help the press can give us. Ask me any questions you please, Mr. Hubbard: there isn't a soul here that I wouldn't sacrifice to the last personal particular, if the press will only do its duty in return. You've no idea how we've been working during the last fortnight since this Old Man of the Sea-Bathing sprang upon us. I was sitting quietly at home, thinking of anything else in the world, I can assure you, when the atrocious idea occurred to me.” She ran on to give a full sketch of the inception and history of the scheme up to the present time. Suddenly she arrested herself and Bartley's flying pencil: “Why, you're not putting all that nonsense down?” “Certainly I am,” said Bartley, while Mr. Atherton, with a laugh, turned and walked away to talk with some other ladies. “It's the very thing I want. I shall get in ahead of all the other papers on this; they haven't had anything like it, yet.” She looked at him for a moment in horror. Then, “Well, go on; I would do anything for the cause!” she cried. “Tell me who's been here, then,” said Bartley. She recoiled a little. “I don't like giving names.” “But I can't say who the people were, unless you do.”