“Do you? Well, that’s more than I do. Any of the plays that you have helped on been produced?”
“That isn’t fair of you,” she protested. “I should have boasted about it if they had.”
“A skilled playwright could take the heart of your story and build up a clever comedy.”
“Could we have Richard Bennett, Marguerite Clarke, and Albert Bruning play the parts?”
“Oh, ho, you’ve got it all cast, have you?”
She nodded.
“And I know just the man to make the play.”
“Do you? So do I. Whom do you choose?”
“Jarvis Jocelyn.”
“Jarvis Jocelyn? Who’s he?”
“He’s a young playwright. He hasn’t had anything produced yet, but he’s extremely clever, and I do so want him to have the chance.”
“Jarvis Jocelyn! Seems as though I had heard that name. Oh, your name is Jocelyn,” he added. “Is this a relative?”
“Sort of—husband.”
“Husband? So you’re married?” in surprise.
“Yes. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll have to tell you some personal history.”
