\" Diane chirped once again, ever-musical. She was furiously angry. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood near the corner where the women's dresses had just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party, except Mrs. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. "You should be glad to be made an honest woman. !" "I understand," interrupted McClintock. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. After Gwen!” “I sent a telegram. But she was not to be tempted.
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