"Business?" repeated he. "Yes, business. You see, I have just come from the Cosmopolitan Literary Bureau." Fairfield did not look pleased. He had kept his connection with that factory of hack-work a secret, and no man likes to be reminded of unpleasant necessities. "They have told me," she went on, "that you revised the manuscript of my novels. I must say that you have done it very satisfactorily. We women of society are so occupied that it is impossible for us to attend to all that mere detail work, and it is a great relief to have it so well done." Fairfield bowed stiffly. "I am glad that you were satisfied," he replied; "but it is a violation of confidence on the part of the bureau." "Oh, you are one of us now," Mrs. Croydon observed with gracious condescension. "It isn't as if they had told anybody else. They told me, you see, that you wrote 'Love in a Cloud.'" "That is a greater violation of confidence still," Fairfield responded. "Indeed, it was a most un-gentlemanly thing of Mr. Cutliff. He only knew it because a stupid errand boy carried him the manuscript by mistake. He had no right to tell that. I shall give him my opinion of his conduct." Mrs. Croydon accomplished a small whirlwind of ribbon ends, and waved her plump hand in remonstrance. "Oh, I beg you won't," she protested. "It will get me into trouble if you do. He especially told me not to let you know." Fairfield smiled rather sardonically. "The man who betrays a confidence is always foolish enough to suppose his confidence will be sacred. I think this is an outrageous breach of good faith on Mr. Cutliff's part." Mrs. Croydon gave a hitch forward as if she were trying to bring her chair closer to that of Fairfield. "As I was saying," she remarked, "we society women have really so little time to give to literature, and literature needs just our touch so much, that it has been especially gratifying to find one that could carry out my ideas so well."