But never again!'
'Well, you may be right. That a young woman has taken to writing
is not by any means the best thing to hear about her.'
'What is the best?'
'I prefer not to say.'
'Do you know? Then, do tell me, please.'
'Well'--(Knight was evidently changing his meaning)--'I suppose to
hear that she has married.'
Elfride hesitated. 'And what when she has been married?' she said
at last, partly in order to withdraw her own person from the
argument.
'Then to hear no more about her. It is as Smeaton said of his
lighthouse: her greatest real praise, when the novelty of her
inauguration has worn off, is that nothing happens to keep the
talk of her alive.'
'Yes, I see,' said Elfride softly and thoughtfully. 'But of
course it is different quite with men. Why don't you write
novels, Mr. Knight?'
'Because I couldn't write one that would interest anybody.'
'Why?'
'For several reasons. It requires a judicious omission of your
real thoughts to make a novel popular, for one thing.'
'Is that really necessary? Well, I am sure you could learn to do
that with practice,' said Elfride with an ex-cathedra air, as
became a person who spoke from experience in the art. 'You would
make a great name for certain,' she continued.
'So many people make a name nowadays, that it is more
distinguished to remain in obscurity.'
'Tell me seriously--apart from the subject--why don't you write a
volume instead of loose articles?' she insisted.
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