Didcott rose. "I will go away, and you need never see me again. I will resign my editorship at once." He moved towards the door.
"Oh, no," she cried.
He turned.
She came towards him. "Don't you see, Mr. Didcott," she said, a little petulantly, "I don't want to be made ridiculous. I have been conceited and foolish, believing I was a great authoress, when really I have been writing nonsense. I don't want it to get about."
"I will tell no one," he said, earnestly.
"Yes, but——" She was silent a moment. "What I want is that we should mutually agree to forget the whole of this stupid business."
"It is a bargain," he answered, eagerly. "We will slam the door on the past."
She looked away. "Not on all the past," she murmured, "only the past that is concerned with my novel."
"Shall we take up our history from the point where it intervened to-day?" he queried.
She made no sign, save that the flush on her cheek deepened.