"What do you know
of Delavan Eyre, Miss Van Arsdale?"
"I occasionally see a New York newspaper."
"Then you know who I am, too?"
"Yes. You are the pet of the society column paragraphers; the famous
'Io' Welland." She spoke with a curious intonation.
"Ah, you read the society news?"
"With a qualmish stomach. I see the names of those whom I used to know
advertising themselves in the papers as if they had a shaving-soap or a
chewing-gum to sell."
"Part of the game," returned the girl airily. "The newcomers, the
climbers, would give their souls to get the place in print that we get
without an effort."
"Doesn't it seem to you a bit vulgar?" asked the other.
"Perhaps. But it's the way the game is played nowadays."
"With counters which you have let the parvenues establish for you. In my
day we tried to keep out of the papers."
"Clever of you," approved the girl. "The more you try to keep out, the
more eager the papers are to print your picture. They're crazy over
exclusiveness," she laughed.
"Speculation, pro and con, as to who is going to marry whom, and who is
about to divorce whom, and whether Miss Welland's engagement to Mr. Eyre
is authentic, 'as announced exclusively in this column'--more
exclusiveness--; or whether--"
"It wasn't Del Eyre that I came out here to marry.
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