What is he writing now ?" "He is writing that novel over again," I replied.
"Over again?
What fearful waste of time!" "Yes, it has cost him hundreds of hours' work; it just shows what a man he is, that he has gone through with it so bravely." "But how do you mean?
Didn't it do ?" Rashly, perhaps, yet I think unavoidably, I told her the truth.
"It was the best thing he had ever written, but unfortunately it was destroyed, burnt to a cinder.

That was not very pleasant, was it, for a man who never makes two copies of his work ?" "It was frightful!" said Freda, her eyes dilating.

"I never heard a word about it.

Does Lawrence know ?" "No, he does not; and perhaps I ought not to have told you, but I was annoyed at your so misunderstanding Derrick.

Pray never mention the affair; he would wish it kept perfectly quiet." "Why ?" asked Freda, turning her clear eyes full upon mine.
"Because," I said, lowering my voice, "because his father burnt it." She almost gasped.
"Deliberately ?" "Yes, deliberately," I replied.