I relaxed with a delightful sense of relief. I felt on solid ground at last. And then it suddenly came to me that Ukridge in his woollen-headed way had omitted to mention the name of a single one of this woman’s books.
“Er—oh, all of them,” I said hurriedly.
“I see. My general literary work.”
“Exactly,” I said. My feeling towards her now was one of positive affection.
She leaned back in her chair with her finger-tips together, a pretty look of meditation on her face.
“Do you think it would interest the readers of Woman’s Sphere to know which novel of mine is my own favourite?”
“I am sure it would.”
“Of course,” said Ukridge’s aunt, “it is not easy for an author to answer a question like that. You see, one has moods in which first one book and then another appeals to one.”
“Quite,” I replied. “Quite.”
“Which of my books do you like best, Mr. Corcoran?”