"I mean those lines, of course—I think you called them The Need of War—where you say collision is a law of progress and all life is warfare and that we're perpetually fighting, although we never dream it, and even our bodies themselves are eternal battle-grounds."
"But that thing would never do," he cried in astonishment.
"Oh, yes, it would," she answered easily. "All it needs is a change or two at the beginning, and perhaps a line here and there to make it more specifically local, or rather, American, in application."
"But it's not what newspapers print or care to print."
"It's a beautiful thing," she cried. "They'd jump at it." And then she added, as an after-thought, "If it had been written by any one with a name."
"That's just it," he explained. "The offer hasn't been made to me, you see."
"Yes, I know," she began. "And that's why I hesitated about suggesting the thing."
He seemed to be weighing the matter, and she waited for him to speak.
"Of course it's awfully good of you to extend the offer to me at the last moment, and all that sort of thing. But I know well enough this paper would never think of offering me any such sum for the lines."
She looked at him steadily.