"What's that?"
"Well, I don't pose as a critic of literature. But judging from the novels I've read I should say that the thing it lacks is romance. The poor devil ought to be in love with somebody, or somebody ought to be in love with him."
Kenwick's face stiffened. It was apparent that he had not expected this criticism. And he found himself envying those people who can discuss their love affairs. But not to his best friend could he have mentioned Marcreta Morgan's name. "I told you I was just giving you a scenario of this thing," he reminded his critic. "I'll work up that part of it later. As a matter of fact there is a woman in it. He proposed to her before he went into the service and she rejected him."
"And he didn't look her up afterward?"
"Well, he could hardly do that, not until he had accounted for himself. And especially as she had shown no interest in him whatever while he was away."
"You never can tell about a woman, though. The fact that he had come back a pariah and was in trouble might arouse her love."
"No, not her love; her pity perhaps."
"Well, I won't argue with an author. They are supposed to be authorities on such questions. Go on with the thing. Where had the chap been during those ten months?"
"I haven't the least idea."
Jarvis brought himself upright. "Why, you outrageous devil!" he cried. "Getting me all worked up over a story that you can't see the end of yourself! And how about the family estate? What became of that?"