Trix’s smile was gone.
‘Oh Ruddy, I don’t think Mama’s going to let me.’
‘What?’ He looked black.
‘I mean, I can put in some of my poems. But the really good ones, the ones that made you laugh, Mama thinks are not suitable. I must think of my reputation.’
‘Your reputation? How are you going to get a reputation if you can’t publish your best work?’
‘I don’t think she has that kind of reputation in mind. It’s men. “Men don’t like girls who are too critical,” that’s what she says.’
‘That’s rich, coming from the Mater. As sharp a tongue as was ever heard throughout all Hind.’
Trix could tell that this was a phrase picked up from the vernacular. She saw his temper was rising. But she could break the spell, with her talent for mimicry.
‘“My dear child, it’s no use thinking you can write
