“Castaways,” says he, gayly, “castaways on a foreign shore. Two delightful young ladies, a bright young lawyer, a fugitive from justice, no chaperon, and nothing to eat. And what a situation for a short story, if only an author were permitted to make use of his own experiences!”
“Only you don't know how it will end,” Miss Thorn put in.
The Celebrity glanced up at her.
“I have a guess,” said he, with a smile.
“Is it true,” Miss Trevor asked, “that a story must contain the element of love in order to find favor with the public?”
“That generally recommends it, especially to your sex, Miss Trevor,” he replied jocosely.
Miss Trevor appeared interested.
“And tell me,” she went on, “isn't it sometimes the case that you start out intent on one ending, and that your artistic sense of what is fitting demands another?”
“Don't be silly, Irene,” said Miss Thorn. She was skipping flat pebbles over the water, and doing it capitally, too.
I thought the Celebrity rather resented the question.