“Impossible!” said I firmly.
“O, but why, Mr. Carter?”
“There would be an end of our friendship.”
“Do you think as badly of me as all that?” asked Dolly with a rueful air.
I leant back in my chair, and looked at Dolly. She looked at me. She smiled. I may have smiled.
“Yes,” said I.
“Then you needn’t write it quite all down,” said Dolly.
“I am obliged,” said I, taking up my pen.
“You mustn’t say what isn’t true, but you needn’t say everything that is—that might be—true,” explained Dolly.
This, again, seemed satisfactory. I began to write, Dolly sitting opposite me with her elbows on the table, and watching me.