“Phil, how could you? How cruel! At the most exciting point! How could you do it?”
“I’m sorry,” said Philippa; and she really looked it. “I didn’t mean to vex her; but Steve will be home in less than an hour, and there is only cold meat. I was so anxious about the fish. Was there much more to read? You might finish it, and then we can tell her what we think of it. I don’t like it; do you?”
“It’s clever,” said Madge decidedly. “It’s atrociously clever. I’m dying to know how it ends.”
But when the MS was finished Madge’s curiosity remained unsatisfied, for what happened to the heroine was as uncertain as everything else in her career.
Theo did not make her appearance again until dinner was on the table, when she came into the room with her head in the air and her lip curled in disdain. “I have to live with these poor, grovelling worms, but at least I need not associate with them!” So said her expression as plainly as words could speak. She had, however, reckoned without her sense of humour, which, fortunately for her readers, was particularly acute; and no sooner was the cover removed from the belated fish than her lips began to twitch and her eyes to twinkle. Her cheeks grew red, her shoulders heaved, and finally out came a great burst of laughter; and there she sat, rocking to and fro in her chair, gasping out short, strangled sentences, with her hands gripped convulsively over her heart.
“Oh-h! Oh! Have you ordered the fish? The fish! Oh, a prophet—is not a prophet—Fish! Oh!”
“Might make a joke somehow about fish and Jonah, mightn’t you?” said Madge, laughing, scarcely less heartily, in the relief of seeing Theo’s descent from her high horse. “I can’t quite see how it is to be done, but it has possibilities. I finished reading your story, my dear, and I feel inclined to shake you. Why couldn’t you make a happy ending while you were about it?”
“Too commonplace!” said the author scornfully. “You didn’t expect me to make them ‘live happily ever after,’ did you? I haven’t quite descended to that, I hope. Well, what do you think of it?”
“I don’t like it nearly so well as some of your others. I was sorry that I interrupted you, dear; but I am afraid it was because I didn’t like it,” confessed Philippa honestly. “I loved that pretty little story about the poor governess and the rich lover who came home from Australia. Do send that to Mr Hammond; it is really very much nicer.”
“Nicer!” repeated Theo. “Pretty!” Her voice rang with an incredulous disdain. “I want something strong and powerful. Hope, what do you think? Don’t you like it either?”