Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. Norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive back as fast as they could. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her.
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