"So you are adding to your other crimes by turning novelist, are you?" he said good-humouredly. "What is the book, Miss Briggerland?"
"It is going to be called 'Suspected,'" she said coolly. "And it will be the Story of a Hurt Soul."
"Oh, I see, a humorous story," said Jack, wilfully dense. "I didn't know you were going to write a biography."
"But do tell me about this, it is very thrilling, Jean," said Lydia, "and it is the first I've heard of it."
Jean was skinning the peach and was smiling as at an amusing thought.
"I've been two years making up my mind to write it," she said, "and I'm going to dedicate it to Jack. I started work on it three or four days ago. Look at my wrist!" She held out her beautiful hand for the girl's inspection.
"It is a very pretty wrist," laughed Lydia, "but why did you want me to see it?"
"If you had a professional eye," said the girl, resuming her occupation, "you would have noticed the swelling, the result of writers' cramp."
"The yarn about your elderly admirer ought to provide a good chapter," said Jack, "and isn't there a phrase 'A Chapter of Accidents'—that ought to go in?"
She did not raise her eyes.