What rubbish is printed
about love!'
'I get rather tired of it sometimes,' admitted Edith with
amusement.
'I should hope you do, indeed. What downright lies are accepted
as indisputable! That about love being a woman's whole life; who
believes it really? Love is the most insignificant thing in most
women's lives. It occupies a few months, possibly a year or two,
and even then I doubt if it is often the first consideration.'
Edith held her head aside, and pondered smilingly.
'I'm sure there's a great opportunity for some clever novelist
who will never write about love at all.'
'But then it does come into life.'
'Yes, for a month or two, as I say. Think of the biographies of
men and women; how many pages are devoted to their love affairs?
Compare those books with novels which profess to be biographies,
and you see how false such pictures are. Think of the very words
"novel," "romance"--what do they mean but exaggeration of one bit
of life?'
'That may be true. But why do people find the subject so
interesting?'
'Because there is so little love in real life.
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