Gil. Won't you present me with a copy of your novel as a parting gift, as I have done?
Marg. It hasn't come out yet. It won't be on sale before next week.
Gil. Pardon my inquisitiveness, what kind of a story is it?
Marg. The story of my life. So veiled, to be sure, that I am in no danger of being recognized.
Gil. I see. How did you manage to do it?
Marg. Very simple. For one thing, the heroine is not a writer but a painter.
Gil. Very clever.
Marg. Her first husband is not a cotton manufacturer, but a big financier, and, of course, it wouldn't do to deceive him with a tenor—
Gil. Ha! Ha!
Marg. What strikes you so funny?