_Visitor._ Mr. Sherman is such a distinguished-looking man. I admire iron-gray hair and mustaches. Indeed, every one would be very much interested in anything you were to say. You are a woman of ideas--a progressive woman. The public is interested in progressive women, and I think such women owe it to the public to let them understand and appreciate them. _Mrs. Sherman._ But I'm only a private individual. It might be different if I were an author or other public character; though I don't approve at all of people who parade themselves and their ideas in the newspapers. There! I have hurt your feelings. _Visitor (with her air of pathos)._ No, dear lady. I'm only a little discouraged. If the public wish to know and progressive people refuse to tell them, what becomes of the reporter who is obliged to furnish copy and to obey orders? _Mrs. Sherman._ It is a hard life, I'm sure. But--but, if I'm not impertinent---- _Visitor (interrupting)._ You're going to ask how I came to take it up as a profession. Yes, it is hard; but I glory in it _(proudly)._ I'm not ashamed of it. It's a progressive life, too. But it is a little discouraging at times _(sadly)._ You have such a lovely home, Mrs. Sherman; elegance without ostentatious display; taste everywhere without extravagance. I should so like to describe it. _Mrs. Sherman._ Oh, but you mustn't. Were you ordered to--er--write about me? _Visitor._ Yes, dear lady. You are to be one of a series--"Half-hour Chats with our Progressive Women," that's the title. _Mrs. Sherman._ Have you--er--been to see any one else? _Visitor._ Yes, and they all felt as you did at first (she enumerates the names of three or four other modern women with social ambitions). _Mrs. Sherman._ And did they all consent to talk to you? _Visitor._ Every one, and they all gave me their photographs. _Mrs. Sherman (faintly)._ Photographs? You don't mean that you wish a photograph? That would be too dreadful. _Visitor (soothingly)._ You wouldn't wish to mar the completeness of the series. People like to see those who talk to them. _Mrs. Sherman._ But I have nothing to say to them. _Visitor._ Leave that to me. You have spoken already. Everything about you speaks--your face, your personal belongings, your household usages. While I have been sitting here I have observed a host of things which talk eloquently of your ideas, your principles, and your tastes. Just the things the public thirst to know about a woman like you. Leave it all to me. I will write it out and send you the proof, and, if it isn't just right, you can alter it to suit yourself (_blithely_). And the photograph? _Mrs. Sherman_. Must I?