“Almost five years ago,” I remarked, “a volume was stolen from my room, which I have never since been able to recover. Now a woman of excessive honesty calmly calls it hers.”
“You know you don’t want it.”
“I want it very much.”
“Really?”
“To put it in the fire.”
“Don!”
“Once upon a time a most bewitching woman wrote a story, and in a vain moment her husband asked her to give it to him. She”—
“But, my darling, it was so foolish that I had to burn it up. Think of my making the heroine marry that creature!”
“Since you married the poor chap to the other girl, there was no other ending possible. If the book were only in existence, I think Agnes and her husband would enjoy reading it almost as much as I should.”
“How silly I was! But at least the book made you write the ending which prevented me from accepting him that winter. What a lot of trouble I gave my poor dear!”