ling
books. Why not try?

Give yourself a week to invent a sensational plot, and then a fortnight
for the writing. Have it ready for the new season at the end of October.
If you like, don't put your name to it; your name certainly would have
no weight with this sort of public. Just make it a matter of business,
as Mr Milvain says, and see if you can't earn some money.'

He stood and regarded her. His expression was one of pained perplexity.

'You mustn't forget, Amy, that it needs a particular kind of faculty to
write stories of this sort. The invention of a plot is just the thing I
find most difficult.'

'But the plot may be as silly as you like, providing it holds the
attention of vulgar readers. Think of "The Hollow Statue", what could be
more idiotic? Yet it sells by thousands.'

'I don't think I can bring myself to that,' Reardon said, in a low
voice.

'Very well, then will you tell me what you propose to do?'

'I might perhaps manage a novel in two volumes, instead of three.'

He seated himself at the writing-table, and stared at the blank sheets
of paper in an anguish of hopelessness.

'It will take you till Christmas,' said Amy, 'and then you will get
perhaps fifty pounds for it.'

'I must do my best. I'll go out and try to get some ideas. I--'

He broke off and looked steadily at his wife.

'What is it?' she asked.

'Suppose I were to propose to you to leave this flat and take cheaper
rooms?'

He uttered it in a shamefaced way, his eyes falling. Amy kept silence.

'We might sublet it,' he continued, in the same tone, 'for the last year
of the lease.'

'And where do you propose to live?' Amy inquired, coldly.

'There's no need to be in such a dear neighbourhood. We could go to one
of the outer districts. One might find three unfurnished rooms for about
eight-and-sixpence a week--less than half our rent here.'

'You must do as seems good to you.'

'For Heaven's sake, Amy, don't speak to me in that way! I can't stand
that! Surely you can see that I am driven to think of every possible
resource. To speak like that is to abandon me. Say you can't or won't do
it, but don't treat me as if you had no share in my miseries!'

She was touched for the moment.

'I didn't mean to speak unkindly, dear. But think what it means, to give
up our home and position. That is open confession of failure. It would
be horrible.'

'I won't think of it. I have three months before Christmas, and I will
finish a