“Yes,” he said encouragingly. “And the verdict?”
“Does my verdict matter, Mr. Branstone?” she asked. He hadn’t given her time to get her jacket off!
“What? Certainly it matters. I wasn’t asking you to waste your time when I gave you the manuscript to read. The question is whether we ought to publish it, and the answer depends on your opinion.”
“Is that quite fair—to the author, I mean? My opinions of novels are inexpert.”
“That author can take care of himself very well,” he assured her. “He won’t starve if we refuse his novel.”
“I’m afraid my opinions are also intolerant,” she said.
“Still,” he smiled, “I should like to hear them.”
“They might infuriate you, and—well, I’d rather not be sacked if I can help it.”
“We will forget that it is in my power to sack you. Does that satisfy you?”
Oh, how she loathed people who could be magnanimous at nine a.m.! “You are being very kind,” she said.