an inestimable comfort your novels have been to me during years
of sore tribulation and distress----

"Look here," interrupted Linton with decision at this point. "If you
think I'm going to shove my name at the end of this rot, you're making
the mistake of a lifetime."

"Of course not. You're a widow who has lost two sons in South Africa.
We'll think of a good name afterwards. Ready?

"Ever since my darling Charles Herbert and Percy Lionel were
taken from me in that dreadful war, I have turned for consolation
to the pages of 'The Soul of Anthony Carrington' and----"

"What, another?" asked Linton.

"There's one called 'Pancakes.'"

"Sure? Sounds rummy."

"That's all right. You have to get a queer title nowadays if you want
to sell a book."

"Go on, then. Jam it down."

"--and 'Pancakes.' I hate to bother you, but if you could send me
your autograph I should be more grateful than words can say. Yours
admiringly."

"What's a good name? How would Dorothy Maynard do?"