"The—kitchen!" For an instant, the man was thrown from his professional calm.
"Yes. I put my little kettle of tea to draw on the hob—"
"The—what?"
"The hob," Cicely said severely; "and when I am tired of writing, I refresh myself with a cup of Flowery Pekoe and a biscuit, and then I return to my pen once more."
"How much do you usually accomplish in a night?"
"Four thousand, five hundred words is my usual limit."
"And do your never write during the day?"
"Never. My thoughts only arise by candle-light."
At this poetic outburst, the interviewer glanced up and privately registered the belief that Mrs. Farrington was slightly cracked.
"I always sleep till noon," Cicely reassured him. "Is there anything else
I can do for you?"