“It was an old idea of mine. When people have a Conservatoire of Music, and the Academy School of Painting, why should the art of Literary Composition be allowed to struggle on as best it can without instruction or advice?”
“That’s just what I should like to know. And the other bounder—I mean the chap who talked that about bulldogs and the cats and things—a bit of a rotter he was, wasn’t he? Did you advise him in any direction? I didn’t quite make out what his line was.”
“Yes, it was I who suggested to him the splendid possibilities there were in the way of advertising things. I showed him in what a haphazard way people advertised just now, and persuaded him that there was money in any systematic scheme of advertising, and he has gone far ahead of anything I ever imagined to be possible.”
“I should think he has. And what are they up to, the lot of them, can you guess, Miss Severn?”
“Up to?—what are they up to? Why, haven’t I just explained that each of them is making a profession——”
“Oh, yes; but do you fancy that they’re doing it for love of the profession or for—for—any other reason?”
“I don’t quite see what you mean, Lord Lullworth.”
“It’s a bit rough to be frank with a girl; and it’s rarely that a chap has to say just what he means, but there are times...”
He spoke apologetically and paused, allowing his smile to rest upon her for a moment. It was the smile of a man who hopes he hasn’t gone too far, and trusts to get out of an untenable position by the aid of a temporising smile.
She returned his smile quite pleasantly. She knew that the sentences over the utterance of which men hesitate are invariably the most interesting that they have to speak.