"Nor praise, perhaps?" she said, in a low tone.
"That might be true, also," he replied. "The first chapter of a novel is only the laying of the cloth and the placing of a few dishes. The viands that form the meal are still in the kitchen."
She smiled at the simile.
"But even the laying of the cloth is important," she said.
"Your cloth is laid most admirably," he answered. "And now we will have the castor, which in this case, I believe, contains a certain quantity of mustard and red pepper."
At this she laughed the more, and glanced through a few of the sheets in her hands before she spoke again.
"Did you form any opinion about—about me—from this story?" she asked, constrainedly. "Did you, in brief, think it had taken a bold girl to write it?"
He hesitated a moment.
"Yes," he said, at last. "A bold girl, a daring girl, a brave girl. Not one, however, whose own conduct would necessarily be like that of the woman she has delineated."