A sharp snort, plainly emanating from a soul in anguish, broke the serene silence that brooded over the bar-parlour of the Anglers’ Rest.
The opening line is fraught with important information despite not seeming so. The mention of “Anglers’ Rest” lets those familiar with Wodehouse know that this will be “Mr. Mulliner” story since all his stories begin in this pub. The overwrought description of a “soul in anguish” is a set-up to the story’s satire of literary conventions since it is shortly revealed that this sound is actually the result of a barmaid responding to a scene in a sentimental romance novel.
“There is something that I want to ask.”
The sudden huskiness of his voice, the background of the moon over the water and the strains of Tannhauser from a nearby band all seem set the stage for the expectation that the man telling the woman he has a question to ask is going to lead to a proposal. The subtly allusive sense of satire that pervades the story is demonstrated in building up a scene based upon conventions common and familiar enough as to be almost trite. And then the rug is pulled out from under those expectations as it turns out that the question poised under these most generically romantic of situations turns out to be something quite unconventional.
“Tell me, have you ever written a novel?”
The question Egbert wants to ask that is actually making his voice husky with anticipation is one which must precede that other question which was expected to be asked under such circumstances. For—due to circumstances in his job as a literary critic requiring him to have spent much of the previous six months interviewing female authors of sentimental romance novels just like the one which has led to the barmaid to a public display of emotion—that other question can only be asked subsequent to receiving an answer to this question. If the answer is yes, then Egbert is determined not to pursue the logical line of reasoning leading to asking a question about marriage. Fortunately for Egbert, the answer to this question is no. Unfortunately for him—but good news for the reader—the negative reply he receives from one Evangeline Pembury turns out to be true only in an incredibly ironic temporary way.
She had flung herself on the sofa and was now chewing the cushion in an ecstasy of grief. She gulped like a bull-pup swallowing a chunk of steak.
The subtle satire on literary snobbery reaches a fever pitch with the scene detailed here. Egbert's hatred of overwrought, melodramatic prose which he considers the mark of a female novelist has long since been revealed to be a failing equally attributable to the snobby literary critic himself. Despite answering no, Evangeline almost immediately does become someone who has written a novel; a novel based on her relationship with Egbert. At this point, she’s a successful novelist with an agent who has lined up lucrative opportunities, but she’s about to admit that she cannot write anything else and, besides, she hates writing, anyway. But before that confession, her own story that is being consumed by the reader devolves into exactly the sort of overwrought melodrama that Egbert considers bad writing and low-brow literature. In fact, “Best Seller” at this point becomes so melodramatic that its heroine quite literally is chewing the scenery.
