"I don't want it to be a mystery," he said. "That isn't the aim at all. What I mean to do is to analyse the woman's sensations when she learns it. I want to show how she feels and suffers; yes, and the temptation that she wrestles with, and loathes herself for being too weak to put aside. Don't you see--don't you see?" She was chiefly sensible that his pleasure had vanished and that the note of interest in his voice had died. She, however, repeated her suggestion; to be a literary critic, she must be prepared to maintain her views! "I think all that would be much duller than if you had the surprise," she declared. He did not argue--he did not attempt to demonstrate that her suggestion amounted to proposing that he should write quite another story than the one he was talking about; he felt hopelessly that argument would be waste of time. "Perhaps you are right," he said; "but one does what one can." "But you should say, 'What one _will_,' dear; it can be done whichever way you like." "There's only one way possible to _me_, I assure you; for once 'the wrong way' is the more difficult." "That which you _think_ is the wrong way," said Cynthia, with gentle firmness. He looked at her a moment incredulously. "Good Lord!" he said; "let me know something about my own business! I don't want to pose on the strength of a solitary novel--I'm not arrogant--but let me know _something_--at all events, more than you! Heavens above! a novelist devotes his life to trying to learn the technique of an art which it wants three lifetimes to acquire, and Mr. Jones, who is a solicitor, and Mr. Smith the shoe manufacturer, and little Miss Pink of Putney, who don't know the first laws of fiction --who aren't even aware there are any laws to know--are all prepared to tell him how his books should be written." "I am not Miss Pink of Putney," she said. "And if I were, we all know whether we like a book or whether we don't." "'Like'!" he echoed. "To 'like' and to 'criticise'----Men are _paid_ to criticise books when they can do it; it's thought to be worth payment. Editors, who don't exactly bubble over with generosity, sign cheques for reviews. _I_ don't pretend to teach Mr. Smith how to make his shoes; I've sense enough to understand that he knows the way better than I. Nor do these people think that they can teach a painter how to compose his pictures, or that they can give a musician lessons in counterpoint. Why on earth should they imagine they're competent to instruct a novelist? It is absurd!" "Your comparisons are far-fetched," she said. "A painter and a musician, we all know, have to study; they---"