“He’ll not have anything more to do with me. He hates me.”
“Hates you?”
“Yes. Because I have faith, and he hasn’t! Because I wouldn’t stoop to the indignity he offered!”
“What did he offer?”
“He says that what the public’s reading now is society novels—stories about up-to-date people who are handsome and successful and rich. They want automobiles and theatre-parties and country-clubs in their novels.”
“But Thyrsis! You don’t know anything about such things!”
“I know. But he said I could find out. And so I could. The point he made was that I’ve got passion and color—I could write a moving love-story! In other words, I could use my ecstasy to describe two society-people mating!”
There was a pause. “And what did you do with the manuscript?” asked Corydon, in a low voice.
“I took it to another publisher,” he answered.
“And what are you going to do now?”