“When it is finished I’ll read it to you and Mr. Harrison, and I shall want you to criticize it Severely. No one else shall see it until it is published.”
“How are you going to end it—happily or unhappily?”
“I’m not sure. I’d like it to end unhappily, because that would be so much more romantic. But I understand editors have a prejudice against sad endings. I heard Professor Hamilton say once that nobody but a genius should try to write an unhappy ending. And,” concluded Anne modestly, “I’m anything but a genius.”
“Oh I like happy endings best. You’d better let him marry her,” said Diana, who, especially since her engagement to Fred, thought this was how every story should end.
“But you like to cry over stories?”
“Oh, yes, in the middle of them. But I like everything to come right at last.”
“I must have one pathetic scene in it,” said Anne thoughtfully. “I might let Robert Ray be injured in an accident and have a death scene.”
“No, you mustn’t kill Bobby off,” declared Diana, laughing. “He belongs to me and I want him to live and flourish. Kill somebody else if you have to.”
For the next fortnight Anne writhed or reveled, according to mood, in her literary pursuits. Now she would be jubilant over a brilliant idea, now despairing because some contrary character would not behave properly. Diana could not understand this.
