"Pinero knows his trade," he admitted.
"Galsworthy, Brieux."
"Galsworthy is a pamphleteer. Brieux is no artist. He is a surgeon. They have nothing to say to Broadway. Broadway swallows the pills they offer because of their names, but they might just as well give them the sugar drip they want, for all the good it does."
"Well, they get heard, anyhow. What's the use of writing a play if it isn't acted? Of course we'll sell your plays."
"But if we don't, where will you be?"
"Oh, I'll be all right. I mean to support myself, anyhow, and you, too, if the plays don't go."
He laughed.
"You are an amusing mite. Queer I never noticed you before."
"You'll like me, if you continue to be aware of me. I'm nice," she laughed up at him, and he smiled back.
"How do you intend to make this fortune, may I ask?"