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’
And
you
pay
,
if
it
’
s
a
good
one
?
’
’
I
pay
liberally
—
in
my
own
interests
.
’
’
If
I
write
the
play
,
will
you
read
it
?
’
Francis
hesitated
.
’
What
has
put
writing
a
play
into
your
head
?
’
he
asked
.
’
Mere
accident
,
’
she
answered
.
’
I
had
once
occasion
to
tell
my
late
brother
of
a
visit
which
I
paid
to
Miss
Lockwood
,
when
I
was
last
in
England
.
He
took
no
interest
at
what
happened
at
the
interview
,
but
something
struck
him
in
my
way
of
relating
it
.
He
said
,
"
You
describe
what
passed
between
you
and
the
lady
with
the
point
and
contrast
of
good
stage
dialogue
.
You
have
the
dramatic
instinct
—
try
if
you
can
write
a
play
.
You
might
make
money
.
"
That
put
it
into
my
head
.
’
Those
last
words
seemed
to
startle
Francis
.
’
Surely
you
don
’
t
want
money
!
’
he
exclaimed
.
’
I
always
want
money
.
My
tastes
are
expensive
.
I
have
nothing
but
my
poor
little
four
hundred
a
year
—
and
the
wreck
that
is
left
of
the
other
money
:
about
two
hundred
pounds
in
circular
notes
—
no
more
.
’
Francis
knew
that
she
was
referring
to
the
ten
thousand
pounds
paid
by
the
insurance
offices
.
’
All
those
thousands
gone
already
!
’
he
exclaimed
.
She
blew
a
little
puff
of
air
over
her
fingers
.
’
Gone
like
that
!
’
she
answered
coolly
.
