CHAPTER XI

"Well, have those publishers of yours made you an offer yet?"

"No, sir; I haven't heard from them."

"You should drop them a line," said Walford irritably. "Damn nonsense! How long have they had the thing now?"

"About three weeks."

"Drop 'em a line! They may keep you waiting a month if you don't wake them up. Don't you think so, Cynthia? He ought to write."

"Oh, I expect we shall have a letter in a day or two, papa. We were afraid you weren't coming round this evening; you're late. How d'ye do, mamma? How d'ye do, Aunt Emily?"

"And how are you?" asked Mrs. Walford. "Have you made up your mind about Bournemouth yet? She is quite fit to go now, Humphrey. You ought to pack her off at once; there's nothing to wait for now you've got your nurse. How does she suit you?"

"She seems all right," said Cynthia, rather doubtfully. "A little consequential, perhaps--that's all."

"Oh, you mustn't stand any airs and graces; put her in her place at the start. What has she done?"

"She hasn't done anything, only----"

"She's our first," explained Kent, "and we're rather in awe of her. She was surprised to find that there weren't two nurseries--she is frequently 'surprised,' and then we apologise to her."

"Don't be so absurd!" murmured his wife; "he does exaggerate so, mamma! No; but, of course, she has always been in better situations, with people richer than us.... 'Us'?" she repeated questioningly, looking at Kent with a smile.

He laughed and shook his head.

"Than _we_, then! And she's the least bit in the world too self-important."

"Than 'we'?" echoed Mrs. Walford. "Than 'we'? Nonsense! 'Than _us_'!"

Kent pulled his moustache silently, and there was a moment's pause.

"Than _us!_" said the lady again defiantly. "Unquestionably it is 'than _us!_"

"Very well," he replied; "I'm not arguing about it, mater."

"_I_ always say 'than us,'" said Sam Walford good-humouredly. "Ain't it right?"

"No," said Miss Wix; "of course it isn't, Sam!"

"Ridiculous!" declared Mrs. Walford, with asperity. "'Than we' is quite wrong--quite ungrammatical. I don't care who says it isn't--I say it _is_."

"A literary man might have been supposed to know," said Miss Wix ironically. "But Humphrey is mistaken too, then?"

"What's the difference--what does it matter?" put in Cynthia. "There's nothing to get excited about, mamma."

"I'm not in the least excited," said her mother, with a white face; "but I don't accept anybody's contradiction on such a point. I'm not to be convinced to the contrary when I'm sure I'm correct."

"Well, let's return to our muttons," said Kent. "Once upon a time there was a nurse, and----"

"Oh, you are very funny!" Mrs. Walford exclaimed. "Let me tell you, you don't know anything about it. And as to Emily, I don't take any notice of her at all. She may say what she likes."

"What I like is decent English," said Miss Wix, "since you don't mind. This lively conversation must be very good for Cynthia. Humphrey, you're quite a member of the family; you see we're rude to one another in front of you. Isn't it nice?"

"I shouldn't come to you to learn politeness, either," retorted Mrs. Walford hotly. "I shouldn't come to you to learn grammar, or politeness either. You're most rude yourself--most ill-bred!"

"That'll do--that'll do," said the stock-jobber; "we don't want a row. Damn it! let everybody say what they choose; it ain't a hanging matter, I suppose, if they're wrong!"

"I'm _not_ wrong, Sam. Humphrey, just tell me this: Do you say 'than who' or 'than whom'? Now, then!"

"You say 'than whom,' but that's the one instance where the comparative does govern the objective in English. And Angus, or Morell, or somebody august, denies that it ought to govern it there."

Momentarily she looked disconcerted. Then she said:

"All I maintain is that 'than we' is very pedantic in ordinary conversation--very pedantic indeed; and I shall stick to my opinion if you argue for ever. 'Than us' is much more usual, and much more euphonious. I consider it's much more euphonious than the other. I prefer it altogether."

Miss Wix gave a sharp little laugh.

"You may consider it more euphonious to say 'heggs' and 'happles,' too, but that doesn't make it right."

Her sister turned to her wrathfully, and the ensuing passage at arms was terminated by the spinster putting her handkerchief to her eyes and beginning to cry.

"I won't be spoken to so," she faltered--"I won't! Oh, I quite understand--I know what it means; but this is the last time I'll be trampled on and insulted--the last time, Sam!"

"Don't be a fool, Emily; nobody wants to 'trample' on you. You can give as good as you get, too. What an infernal rumpus about nothing! 'Pon my soul! I think you have both gone crazy."

"I'm in the way--yes! And I'm shown every hour that I'm in the way!" she sobbed, in crescendo. "Humphrey is a witness how I am treated. I won't stop where I'm not wanted. This is the end of it. I'll go--I'll take a situation!"

Everybody excepting the offender endeavoured to pacify her. Cynthia put an arm round her waist and spoke consolingly, while Walford patted her on the back. Humphrey brought her whisky-and-water, but she waved it violently aside.

"I'll take a situation; I've made up my mind. Thank Heaven! I'm not quite dependent on a sister and a brother-in-law yet. Thank Heaven! I've the health to work for my living. I'd rather live in one room on a pound a week than remain with you. I shall leave your house the moment I can get something to do. I'll be a paid companion--I'll go into a shop!" And she went into hysterics.

When she recovered, she drank the whisky-and-water tearfully, and begged Kent to take her back to The Hawthorns. He complied amiably, and tried on the way to dissuade her from her determination. It was his first experience of this phase of Miss Wix, and he was a good deal surprised by the valour that she displayed. Her weakness had passed, and the light of resolution shone in the little woman's eyes. Her nostrils were dilated, her carriage was firm and erect. He felt that it was no empty boast when she asserted stoutly that she would go to a registry-office on the morrow--nor was it; as much as that she would probably do. But the prospect of employment was as the martyr's stake or an arena of lions, to her mind; and, after the office had been visited, the decision of her manner would decrease, and the heroism in her eyes subside, until at last she trembled in a cold perspiration lest her relatives should take her at her word.

"It'll be a small household if you go," he said; "I suppose Cæsar won't live at home after he comes out, and they will be left by themselves."

Miss Wix sniffed.

"_When_ he comes out!"

"Yes; he seems to have been rather a long while doing it. But there can't be any doubt about it this time; the agreement for the spring is signed, I hear."

They were passing a lamp-post. Miss Wix's mouth was the size of a sixpence, and her eyebrows had entirely disappeared under her bonnet.

"It always is," she said. "The agreements are always signed--and written in invisible ink. I don't seem to remember the time when that young man _wasn't_ coming out 'next spring,' and I knew him in his cradle. He was an affected horror then."

Kent laughed to himself in walking home; he had suspected the accuracy of the proud parents' statements already, just as he had suspected, when he had been invited to meet an operatic celebrity at The Hawthorns, who it was that sent the telegram of regrets and apologies that bore the star's name. He wondered how much the Walfords' foolishness and his pupil's vanity had been worth to the Italian singing-master, who gesticulated about the drawing-room and foretold such triumphs.

When he re-entered No. 64, he was relieved to find the company cheerful again; they seemed even to be in high spirits, and the cause was promptly evident. Cynthia pointed radiantly to a letter lying on the table.

"For you," she cried, "from Cousins! Be quick; we're all dying of impatience. How did you leave Aunt Emily?"

"She's going to bed," he said, tearing the envelope open.

His heart had leapt, and he trusted only that he wasn't destined to be damped by the suggested price. The others sat regarding him eagerly, waiting for him to speak. Cynthia tried to guess the amount by his expression.

"Well?" said Mrs. Walford at last--"Well? What do they say?"

Kent put the note down; all the colour had gone from his face. His lips twitched, and his voice was not under control as he answered.

"They haven't accepted it," he said; "they're returning it to me. They don't think it good."

"What?" she ejaculated.

"Oh, Humphrey!" he heard Cynthia gasp; and then there were seconds in which he was conscious that everyone was staring at him, seconds in which he would have paid heavily to be in the room alone. That the book might be refused, after such reviews as had been written of his last, was a calamity that he had never contemplated, and he was overwhelmed. When he had been despondent he had imagined the publishers proposing to pay a couple of hundred pounds for it; when he had been gloomier still, he had fancied that the sum would be a hundred and fifty; in moments of profound depression he had even groaned, "I shan't get a shilling more for it than I did for the other one!" But to be rejected, "declined with thanks," was a shock for which he was wholly unprepared. It almost dazed him.

"What do you mean?" demanded Sam Walford, breaking the silence angrily. "Not accepting it? But--but--this is a fine sort of thing! It takes you a year to write, and then they don't accept it. A damn good business _you_'re in, upon my word!"

"Hush, Sam!" said Mrs. Walford. "What do they say? what reason do they give? Let me look!"

Kent handed the letter to her mutely, his wife watching him with startled, pitying eyes, and she read it aloud:

"'DEAR SIR,

"'We are obliged by the kind offer of your MS., to which our most careful consideration has been given.'"

"Been better if they'd considered it a little less!" grunted Walford.

"'We regret to say, however, that, in view of our reader's report, we are reluctantly forced to decide that the construction of the story precludes any hope of its succeeding. The faults seem inherent to the story, and irremediable, and we are therefore returning the MS. to you to-day, with our compliments and thanks.'"

"Ha, ha!" said Kent wildly; "they return it with their compliments!"

"I don't see anything to laugh at!" said his mother-in-law with temper; "I call it dreadful. Anything but funny, I'm sure!"

"Do you think so?" he said. "I call it very funny. There's a touch of humour about their 'compliments' that'd be hard to beat."

"Ah," said Walford, "your mother-in-law's sense of humour isn't so keen and 'literary' as yours. She only sees that your year's work's not worth a tinker's curse!"

"Papa!" murmured Cynthia, wincing.

Kent's mouth closed viciously.

"Against _your_ judgment on such a matter, sir," he said, "of course there can be no appeal."

"It ain't my judgment," answered Walford; "it's your own publishers'. It's no good putting on the sarcastic, my boy. Here"--he caught up the letter and slapped it--"here you've got the opinion of a practical man, and he tells you the thing's valueless. There's no getting away from facts."

"And _I_ say the thing's strong, sound work," exclaimed Kent, "and the reader's an ass! Oh, what's the use of arguing with you? You see it rejected, and so to you it's rubbish; and when you see it paid for, to you it will be very good! I want some whisky--has 'Aunt Emily' drunk it all?" He helped himself liberally, and invited his father-in-law to follow his example. Walford shook his head with a grunt. "You won't have a drink? I will! I want to return thanks for Messrs. Cousins' compliments. It's very flattering to receive compliments from one's publishers. I'm afraid you none of you appreciate it so much as you ought. We're having a ripping evening, aren't we, with hysterics and rejections? And whisky's good for both. Well, sir, what have you got to say next?"

"I think we'll say 'good-night,'" said Mrs. Walford coldly; "I'll be round in the morning, Cynthia. Come, Sam, it's past ten!"

She rose, and put on her things, Kent assisting her. The stock-jobber took leave of him with a scowl; and when the last "good-night" had been exchanged, Cynthia and the unfortunate author stood on the hearth vis-à-vis. The girl was relieved that her parents were gone. The atmosphere had been electric and made her nervous of what might happen next. She had been looking forward, besides, to consoling him when the door closed--to his lying in her arms under her kisses, while she smoothed away his mortification. She could enter into his mood to-night better than she had entered into any of his moods yet, and she ached with sorrow for him. To turn to his wife on any matters connected with his work, however, never entered his head any more; so when she murmured deprecatingly, "Papa didn't mean anything by what he said, darling; you mustn't be vexed with him," all he replied was, "Oh, he hasn't made an enemy for life, my dear! If you're going up to your room now, I think I'll take a stroll."

She said, "Do, and--and cheer up!" But her heart sank miserably. He dropped a kiss on her cheek with a response as feeble as her own, and went out. A woman may have little comprehension of her husband's work, and yet feel the tenderest sympathies for the disappointments that it brings him, but of this platitude the novelist had shown himself ignorant.

Cynthia did not go up to her room at once. She sat down by the dying fire and wondered. She wondered--in the hour in which she had come mentally nearest to him--if, after all, Humphrey and she were united so closely as she had supposed.