"Always rotting a chap," Ninian mumbled.
"And Quinny ... what about little Quinny? He's written a novel!..."
"Written a what?" Ninian demanded, sitting up sharply.
"Have you, Quinny?" said Roger.
Henry blushed and nodded his head. "It isn't good," he said. "I shall have to re-write it!"
"My Lord," said Ninian, "fancy one of us writing a book!"
Gilbert slapped him on the side of the head. "You forget, Ninian, that I've written a play!..."
"A play's not a book!..."
"My plays are books," Gilbert retorted. "Well, now," he went on, "what's to become of little Quinny: a tip-top novelist with a limited circulation or a third-rater who sells millions?"
"What about yourself?" Ninian said.