"I heard you had a tremendously literary conversation when you dined with us." "We had, indeed!" said Langholm, with enthusiasm.

"And Mrs.Steel gave me one of the best ideas I ever had in my life; that's another reason why I'm racing through this rubbish--to take it in hand." It was Sybil to whom he was speaking, but at this point Rachel plunged into the conversation with the sister, Vera, which required an effort, since the elder Miss Venables was a young lady who had cultivated languor as a sign of breeding and sophistication.

Rachel, however, made the effort with such a will that the talk became general in a moment.
"I don't know how anybody writes books," was the elder young lady's solitary contribution; her tone added that she did not want to know.
"Nor I," echoed Sybil, "especially in a place like this, where nothing ever happens.

If I wanted to write a novel, I should go to Spain--or Siberia--or the Rocky Mountains--where things do happen, according to all accounts." "Young lady," returned the novelist, a twinkle in his eye, "I had exactly the same notion when I first began, and I remember what a much older hand said to me when I told him I was going down to Cornwall for romantic background.

'Young man,' said he, 'have you placed a romance in your mother's backyard yet ?' I had not, but I did so at once instead of going to Cornwall, and sounder advice I never had in my life.