"I believe you're all blinder than bats!" he said--"Why on earth
you should think that because a woman looks like a school-girl she
cannot write a clever book if gifted that way, is a condition of
non-intelligence I fail to fathom! You speak of this author as a
'he.' Do you think only a male creature can produce a work of
genius? Look at the twaddle men turn out every day in the form of
novels alone! Many of them are worse than the worst weak fiction
by women. I tell you I've lived long enough to know that a woman's
brain can beat a man's if she cares to test it, so long as she
does not fall in love. When once that disaster happens it's all
over with her! It's the one drawback to a woman's career; if she
would only keep clear of love and self-sacrifice she'd do wonders!
Men never allow love to interfere with so much as their own smoke
--very few among them would sacrifice a good cigar for a woman! As
for this girl, Miss Armitage, I'll pluck out the heart of her
mystery for you! I suppose you won't pay any less for good work if
it turns out to be by a 'she' instead of a 'he'?"

The publisher was amused.

"Certainly not!" he answered. "We have already paid over a
thousand pounds in royalties on the present book, and we have
agreed to give two thousand in advance on the next. The author has
expressed himself as perfectly satisfied--"

"Through Miss Armitage?" put in Harrington.

"Yes. Through Miss Armitage."