With which girlish challenge Miss Eden turned again, and continued her scramble upwards, not, however, disdaining the help of a friendly but respectful hand when the way was rough or the ground slippery.
“May I just venture to ask,” said Bayre, when they arrived rather breathless at the top of the cliff, “whether you mean to beguile the time with any more novel-writing?”
And if there had been mischief in her eyes during her last speech, it was his turn to be quietly humorous now. She drew herself up defiantly.
“Oh, I have beguiled it in that way,” she said promptly. “I’ve written a whole one since you were here last.”
“Won’t you let me see it? Being an unsuccessful writer myself, I’m a first-class critic ready-made.”
She shook her head and smiled, looking down.
“Oh, I don’t for a moment suppose it would stand criticism, especially your criticism.”
“Why especially mine?”
“I know, from what you said to me before about my lack of experience, that you’re not prepared to be complimentary.”
“Compliments do a novel no good, either when they’re spoken or when they’re written. What you want to make a book successful is criticism that’s absolutely venomous. Couldn’t you trust me to supply that?”