"Don't you like it?" she asked.
"It's rather taking, only it isn't exactly festive," he answered.
"Neither is the story, I suspect," she said, laughing a little nervously.
"Go on," he said so imperatively that, with one long breath, Theodora began to read.
It was more than two hours before she finished her story, and during that time Billy's attention and respect never failed her. There were moments when his gravity was sorely tried, for, more mature than Theodora, and, by stress of circumstances, far more at home in the world of books, he realized all the unconscious humor of some of the overdrawn scenes and melodramatic conversations. Still, his loyalty to Theodora would not let him waver, and, in spite of its crudeness, he was honestly surprised at some of the really telling points of the story.
"It is good, Ted," he said, as she dropped the last page into her lap. "It isn't quite up to Treasure Island or Ivanhoe; but it's as good as half the rubbish that gets published, and some of it is most awfully fine. I like that scene where Violet and Marianne tell each other their love affairs. Girls talk just like that, you know."
"You really think it is worth publishing?" she questioned, while her color came and went.
"I most certainly do. Chop it down a little and copy it out, and then send it to a man."
"But I don't want to cut it," she protested.
"It's too long," Billy urged, with more practicality than tact.