“I'll admit he has done all of the writing. I don't pose as a literary man.”
“Seems to me he's sticking closer to the work than ever before,” mused Riggs. “We ought to finish it by spring, the way we're going now.”
“I still say, however, that he ought to put a stop to it.”
“Stop to what?”
“Her running around with Freddy. What else?”
“No harm in it, is there?”
“No; I suppose not,” the other reflected. “Still they're pretty young, you know. Besides, she's French.”
“So was Joan of Arc,” said his friend in rebuttal.
Mr Dawes leaned a little closer.
“I wonder how Mrs Desmond likes having her over there playing the piano every afternoon with Freddy, while Lydia's over here copying things for Jim and working her poor little head off. Ever stop to think about that?”