“‘Fast and Loose’ will be no disappointment on that score,” her cousin significantly returned.  “I’ve handled the subject without gloves.  I’ve called a spade a spade.”

“You simply make my mouth water!  And to think I haven’t been able to read it yet because every spare minute of my time has been given to correcting the proofs of ‘How the Birds Keep Christmas’!  There’s an instance of the hardships of an author’s life!”

Mrs. Fetherel’s eye clouded.  “Don’t joke, Bella, please.  I suppose to experienced authors there’s always something absurd in the nervousness of a new writer, but in my case so much is at stake; I’ve put so much of myself into this book and I’m so afraid of being misunderstood...of being, as it were, in advance of my time... like poor Flaubert....I know you’ll think me ridiculous... and if only my own reputation were at stake, I should never give it a thought...but the idea of dragging John’s name through the mire...”

Mrs. Clinch, who had risen and gathered her cloak about her, stood surveying from her genial height her cousin’s agitated countenance.

“Why did you use John’s name, then?”

“That’s another of my difficulties!  I had to.  There would have been no merit in publishing such a book under an assumed name; it would have been an act of moral cowardice.  ‘Fast and Loose’ is not an ordinary novel.  A writer who dares to show up the hollowness of social conventions must have the courage of her convictions and be willing to accept the consequences of defying society.  Can you imagine Ibsen or Tolstoy writing under a false name?” Mrs. Fetherel lifted a tragic eye to her cousin.  “You don’t know, Bella, how often I’ve envied you since I began to write.  I used to wonder sometimes—­you won’t mind my saying so?—­why, with all your cleverness, you hadn’t taken up some more exciting subject than natural history; but I see now how wise you were.  Whatever happens, you will never be denounced by the press!”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” asked Mrs. Clinch, as she grasped the bulging umbrella which rested against her chair.  “My dear, if I had ever had the good luck to be denounced by the press, my brougham would be waiting at the door for me at this very moment, and I shouldn’t have to ruin this umbrella by using it in the rain.  Why, you innocent, if I’d ever felt the slightest aptitude for showing up social conventions, do you suppose I should waste my time writing ‘Nests Ajar’ and ‘How to Smell the Flowers’?  There’s a fairly steady demand for pseudo-science and colloquial ornithology, but it’s nothing, simply nothing, to the ravenous call for attacks on social institutions—­especially by those inside the institutions!”

There was often, to her cousin, a lack of taste in Mrs. Clinch’s pleasantries, and on this occasion they seemed more than usually irrelevant.

“‘Fast and Loose’ was not written with the idea of a large sale.”