Sumner: When I heard of your impending marriage to Sam, I thought perhaps I had overestimated you. So, I pored through everything that you'd written: letters, poems, short stories. The pages burned with your talent, Diane, and I was singed.
Diane: Why are you telling me this?
Sumner: I was so impressed by one of your unfinished novels, I took the liberty of sending it to a friend who's an editor at Houghton Mifflin.
Diane: You had no right to do that.
Sumner: While he concurs with me that it's rough, embryonic and immature, he loves it and thinks it has a very good chance of being published.
Diane: Published? I knew it. I felt it. I've never been more alive in my life than when I was writing that. Which one was it?
Sumner: Jocasta's Conundrum.