“I shall be very happy,” George replied, without undue coldness, but without enthusiasm. “Shall you stay through the summer?”
“Certainly—my sister and John—Mr. Bond—are there, too. You see, it is so dreadfully hot in town, and he cannot leave the office, though there is nothing in the world to do, I am sure. By the way, what are you doing, if one may ask? I hope you are writing something. You know we are all looking forward to your next book.”
George could not help glancing sharply at her face, which changed colour immediately. But he looked away again as he answered the question.
“The old story,” he said. “A love story. What else should I write about? There is only one thing that has a permanent interest for the public, and that is love.” He ended the speech with a dry laugh, not good to hear.
“Is it?” asked Constance with remarkable self-possession. “I should think there must be many other subjects more interesting and far easier to write upon.”
“Easier, no doubt. I will not question your judgment upon that point, at least. More interesting to certain writers, too, perhaps. Love is so much a matter of taste. But more to the liking of the public—no. There I must differ from you. The great majority of mankind love, are fully aware of it, and enjoy reading about the loves of others.”
Constance was pale and evidently nervous. She had clearly determined to talk to George, and he appeared to resent the advance rather than otherwise. Yet she would not relinquish the attempt. Even in his worst humour she would rather talk with him than with any one else. She tried to meet him on his own ground.
“How about friendship?” she asked. “Is not that a subject for a book, as well as love?”
“Possibly, with immense labour, one might make a book of some sort about friendship. It would be a very dull book to read, and a man would need to be very morbid to write it; as for the public it would have to undergo a surgical operation to be made to accept it. No. I think that friendship would make a very poor subject for a novelist.”
“You do not think very highly of friendship itself, it seems,” said Constance with an attempt to laugh.