THE AUTHOR OF "TRIXIE"
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palms. I can never hope to do anything like that for you out of poetry. The money's in fiction nowadays. Why shouldn't we get hold of some of it?" He hung his head. It was awful to hear his own lips saying such things.
"Before I pack up and return to father's," she said, still quite calmly (and how he loved her for those words!), "let me implore you, Bisham, for your own sake—not mine—to change the name of this book. You call it 'Trixie.' Well, if I were to write a mordant burlesque of the hogwashiest kind of sloppy feuilleton, I should have to call it 'Trixie.' You cannot"
He was inspired. He saw salvation.
"But, my dear old cork, "he cried, "don't you understand that that's exactly what I have done?"
"What is?"
