"My dear friends," I said, "I give you my word of honour that is how modern novels are made. If you put an end to espionage the book market would be given over entirely to such works as 'The Automobile and How to Drive It' and 'Jane Austen and Her Circle.'"
"Then it's a very shady trade, mean and dishonourable," said Mac.
"We agreed upon that, you remember, when my novel was refused publication," I said, laughing.
"Yes," said Bill. "But when they accepted it, you got very stuck-up and refused to write any advertisements for a fortnight and said that whoever had written a good book was one of a noble company, and a lot more of it. It depends on the point of view."
"Of course it does, ma mie. In this case, the honest point of view is the one we must take. We must forget for a moment that we are English lady and gentlemen——"
"Never!" said Bill, firmly, lighting a cigarette.
"——and remember that we are students of life. What would Balzac or Flaubert have known of life if they had been merely gentlemen? Nothing! What does a gentleman know? Nothing. What does he do in the world? Nothing. Of what use is he beyond his interest as a vestige of a defunct feudalism? This is the Twentieth Century, in the United States of America, not the——"
"Oh stop, stop!" she said, laughing. "Go down and get that thousand words finished."
I went.