"I knew he wanted to print something and I can't say I didn't!" Francie said. "I thought he would praise my portrait and that Mr. Waterlow would like that, and Gaston and every one. And he talked to me about the paper—he is always doing that and always was—and I didn't see the harm. But even just knowing him—they think that's vile."
"Well, I should hope we can know whom we like!" Delia declared, jumping in her mystification and alarm from one point of view to another.
Mr. Dosson had put on his hat—he was going out for the paper. "Why, he kept us alive last year," he said.
"Well, he seems to have killed us now!" Delia cried.
"Well, don't give up an old friend," said Mr. Dosson, with his hand on the door. "And don't back down on anything you've done."
"Lord, what a fuss about an old newspaper!" Delia went on, in her exasperation. "It must be about two weeks old, anyway. Didn't they ever see a society-paper before?"
"They can't have seen much," said Mr. Dosson. He paused, still with his hand on the door. "Don't you worry—Gaston will make it all right."
"Gaston?—it will kill Gaston!"
"Is that what they say?" Delia demanded.
