'Aren't you getting on this morning?'

'No, not very well.'

'What do you think of turbot?'

'I think turbot very nice. Emily likes turbot.'

'Very well, then. I'll order turbot.'

As Mrs. Bentley was about to withdraw, she said, 'I'm sorry you are not
getting on. What stops you now? That second act?'

'Come, you are not very busy. I'll read you the act as it stands, and then
tell you how I think it ought to be altered. Nothing helps me so much as to
talk it over; not only does it clear up my ideas, but it gives me desire to
write. My best work has always been done in that way.'

'I really don't think I can stay. If Emily heard that you had been reading
your play to me----'

'I'm tired of hearing of what Emily thinks. I can put up with a good deal,
and I know that it is my duty to show much forbearance; but there is a
limit to all things!' This was the first time Mrs. Bentley had seen him
show either excitement or anger; she hardly knew him in this new aspect. In
a moment the blonde calm of the Saxon had dropped from him, and some Celtic
emphasis appeared in his speech. 'This hysterical girl,' he continued, 'is
a sore burden. Tears about this, and sighs about that; fainting fits
because I happen to take a chair next to yours. You may depend upon it our
lives are already the constant gossip of the neighbourhood.'