THE AUTHOR OF "TRIXIE"
27
desired was given him with the least possible delay. He took it with the least possible hesitation.
No sooner were the girls and their mother safely on the other side of the closed dining-room door than the Archdeacon, as he pushed the port across the table, said: "Did you ever think, Dunkle, of writing a novel?"
Dunkle filled himself out a glass in silence, for the liquor he was about to quaff was worthy of all reverence. He sipped, rolled his tongue, swallowed, rolled his eyes, and said: "No, Archdeacon, not particularly. Why do you ask?"
"In order," said the Archdeacon, "to bring the subject of novels and novel-writing upon the tapis."
"I see," said Dunkle. "But you must have some good reason for introducing so
