"That would be betraying a confidence," said he. "I will say this much, however: I think I wrote your name fifty times or more in connection with it."
"Rubbish!" said I.
"Not at all!" said he, with agreeable spirit.
A sudden chill came over me. "She isn't figuring on having it published, is she?"
"I can't say as to that," was his disquieting reply. "It wasn't any of my business, so I didn't ask."
"Oh," said I, "I see."
"I think it is safe to assume, however, that it is not meant for publication," said he. "It strikes me as being a bit too personal. There are parts of it that I don't believe she'd dare to put into print, although she reeled them off to me without so much as a blush. 'Pon my soul, Mr. Smart, I never was so embarrassed in my life. She—"
"Never mind," I interrupted hastily. "Don't tell tales out of school."
He was silent for a moment, fingering his big eyeglasses nervously. "It may please you to know that she thinks you are an exceedingly nice man."
"No, it doesn't!" I roared irascibly. "I'm damned if I like being called an exceedingly nice man."