person who could read it."

She laughed and took her coffee from him.

"Please light a cigarette," she begged. "I loathe the taste, but the
perfume is delightful."

He obeyed her, and she arranged the lamp so that the light fell upon the
sheets which he had gathered up into his hand. Then she leaned back in
her chair and listened.

* * * * *

"Well?"

She sat up and faced him, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes
flashing soft fires.

"There is nothing I can say beyond this," she cried: "it is the sort of
book which I always hoped and believed that one day you would write."

"You like it?"

"Like is no word. It is magnificent."

He laughed at her.

"If all my critics were like you."

She sighed.