"My dear," I said breathlessly to Irais, when I had got into her room and shut the door and Minora was safely in hers, "what do you think -- she writes books!"
We stood and looked at each other with awe-struck faces.
"How dreadful!" murmured Irais. "I never met a young girl who did that before."
"She says this place is full of copy."
"Full of what?"
"That's what you make books with."
"Oh, my dear, this is worse than I expected! A strange girl is always a bore among good friends, but one can generally manage her. But a girl who writes books -- why it isn't respectable! And you can't snub that sort of people; they're un-snubbable."
"Oh, but we'll try!" I cried, with such heartiness that we both laughed.
- Elizabeth and Her German Garden, 1898