“Don’t you think,” Susan asked tentatively, “that it is best to have a definite aim and to prepare for it beforehand?”
“You talk as if you had an ambition yourself!”
“I have!” said Susan quietly.
“You mean to be celebrated like me?”
“I am going to be an author. I hope I shall be celebrated. I shall try my best, but only time can show how I shall succeed.”
“An author!” Dreda repeated disapprovingly. “You! How very odd! I have thought of being an author myself, and we are so different. I believe I could make up a very good story if I’d time. The only difficult part would be writing it out. Fancy perhaps fifty chapters! You’d get sick of them before you were half through, and have writers’ cramp, and all sorts of horriblenesses. We might collaborate, Susan!”
Susan smiled, but showed no sign of weakening.
“I don’t think that would do. We should never agree about what we wanted to say, but it would be delightful to read our stories aloud to each other, and discuss them together. The first heroine I make shall be exactly like you!”
“That’s sweet of you. Begin at once—do! and read each chapter as it’s done.”
Susan’s smile was somewhat wistful. She looked in Dreda’s face with anxious eyes, as though waiting for a promise which must surely come, but Dreda remained blankly unresponsive. It never occurred to her for a moment that it could be possible to make a heroine out of Susan Webster!