This was a new aspect of Alexandra. It mystified Maggy. "But can you write?" she asked doubtfully. "I—I think so. At least I’ve made a beginning." "It seems so funny. Fred says that actresses can’t write. All those things you see in the magazines and the _Jockey’s Weekly_ by actresses all about themselves, with photos stuck in between, aren’t written by them. The printer does it." "Not the printer, surely?" "Well, the man from the paper. It’s all the same. I’ve been interviewed and I know. All I did was to sign my name at the end. It came out in _The Housewife_." "What I meant was a serious article. Something true." "But nobody wants to read anything serious about the stage," Maggy contended. "It’s for pleasure.... Fancy you writing! Do let me see what you’ve done, Lexie." Alexandra went over to the chest of drawers and came back with her article. It was in manuscript. She handed it over shyly. "Why, it’s pages and pages!" exclaimed Maggy, with the bewilderment of one to whom the space on a postcard presents difficulties. She commenced to read aloud from it. "’The stage as a profession for women has frequently been a subject of discussion. Seldom however has it occurred to any one to descant on it as a profession for ladies...’ "We’re always called _ladies_ of the profession," debated Maggy, and read on. "’... To do this effectively one must first try and arrive at the proper definition of the term "lady," and when one has done so enquire into the economic and moral effects which the stage may have on her if she should embark on...’" Maggy raised enquiring, rather helpless, eyes. "Does this mean you’re a Suffragette?" she asked. "No, of course not." Maggy skipped a paragraph. "’A lady, we will say, is one who, apart from the question of birth, has been brought up to respect the usual conventions of social life. Let us now consider how far those conventions are respected on the stage.’" As she turned the pages, singling out portions of them at random, she found it very hard reading. She thought it like the leaders in the daily paper, which she always skipped. In reality, it was not a bad little article for a beginner, in spite of its consciously correct phraseology and want of cohesion of idea. But as an unglossed commentary concerning the ethical side of stage life it provided food for thought. "I suppose it’s brainy," said Maggy, handing it back. "It doesn’t sound a bit like you though. I hope I’m not a wet blanket, but I think you’ll get sick of the crumply plop it will make coming back through the letter-box. It’s not what you ever see in the papers. You may ask things about inferior flannelette or horrid sausages or white slaves, and it’s all right. But the truth about the stage! Well, there, it’s written now, so you may as well post it; but if I were you, I’d go and see the editor in the morning before he’s had time to read it." "Why?" enquired Alexandra innocently.