"Look here," interrupted Linton with decision at this point. "If you think I'm going to shove my name at the end of this rot, you're making the mistake of a lifetime."
"Of course not. You're a widow who has lost two sons in South Africa. We'll think of a good name afterwards. Ready?
"Ever since my darling Charles Herbert and Percy Lionel were
taken from me in that dreadful war, I have turned for consolation
to the pages of 'The Soul of Anthony Carrington' and——"
"What, another?" asked Linton.
"There's one called 'Pancakes.'"
"Sure? Sounds rummy."
"That's all right. You have to get a queer title nowadays if you want to sell a book."
"Go on, then. Jam it down."
"—and 'Pancakes.' I hate to bother you, but if you could send me
your autograph I should be more grateful than words can say. Yours
admiringly."
"What's a good name? How would Dorothy Maynard do?"