I said, so speedily that admiration for myself almost overcame me: "You ought to write a travel book sometime, Gertrude - one about Peru. I'd like to see what you think about Peru." But this made me think, longingly, that I'd like for Peru to write a book about her: what would Peru think of Gertrude?
"I may, I may," answered Gertrude. "I don't know what I'll write about next. For a while I've been thinking..." She looked away from my face into my wife's, and away from my wife's into Sidney's, and away from Sidney's into the porter's. Then she said pensively, in an almost demure voice: "I've often thought of writing a book about a -" here, for the smallest part of a sceond, she hesitated - "about a writer."
Sidney, and my wife, and the porter looked at Gertrude all unmoved...