“The—what?” cried Mrs. Thornton, breathlessly. “What was that?”
“The Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Economy,” said Despard, placidly.
“And is the title all your own?”
“All my own.”
“Then pray don’t write the book. The title is enough. Publish that, and see if it does not of itself by its own extraordinary merits bring you undying fame.”
“I’ve been thinking seriously of doing so,” said Despard, “and I don’t know but that I may follow your advice. It will save some trouble, and perhaps amount to just as much in the end.”
“And do you often have such brilliant fancies?”
“No, frankly, not often. I consider that title the one great idea of my life.”
“But do not dwell too much upon that,” said Mrs. Thornton, in a warning voice. “It might make you conceited.”
“Do you think so?” rejoined the other, with a shudder. “Do you really think so? I hope not. At any rate I hope you do not like conceited people?”