"Constance," said Philip to his sister, "I have got on very well with my novel. I have written fifty pages, described my hero and heroine, made them thoroughly in love with each other; and now I intend to part them for a season, without letting them be certain of the state of each other's heart. I think narrative my forte, but it will not do to have no conversations, and my dialogues seem so short and trite. Do look over this:
"'Helena. Your letter has arrived, I see.'
"'Bertram. Yes, I have just read it.'
"'H. Well?'
"'B. It says I must delay no longer.'
"'H. When shall you start?'
"'B. Tomorrow, at the latest.'
"'H. Have you told my aunt?'
"'B. Not yet: I must do it now.'
"'H. Shall you go direct to London?'