Part 8

"Ah, now you are only joking!" I said with an indulgent smile. "You know that in your heart you think very differently!"

She made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again, disclosing the unclean 'lady' of the piece, "having a good time all round" on board a luxurious yacht. During the unnatural and stilted dialogue which followed, I withdrew a little back into the shadow of the box, and all that self-esteem and assurance of which I had been suddenly deprived by a glance at Lady Sibyl's beauty, came back to me, and a perfectly stolid coolness and composure succeeded to the first feverish excitement of my mind. I recalled Lucio's words--"_I believe Lady Sibyl is for sale_"--and I thought triumphantly of my millions. I glanced at the old earl, abjectly pulling at his white whiskers while he listened anxiously to what were evidently money schemes propounded by Lucio. Then my gaze came back appraisingly to the lovely curves of Lady Sibyl's milk-white throat, her beautiful arms and bosom, her rich brown hair of the shade of a ripe chestnut, her delicate haughty face, languid eyes and brilliant complexion,--and I murmured inwardly--"All this loveliness is purchaseable, and I will purchase it!" At that very instant she turned to me and said--

"You are the famous Mr Tempest, are you not?"

"Famous?" I echoed with a deep sense of gratification--"Well,--I am scarcely that,--yet! My book is not published ..."

Her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly.

"Your book? I did not know you had written one?"

My flattered vanity sank to zero.

"It has been extensively advertised," I began impressively,--but she interrupted me with a laugh.

"Oh I never read advertisements,--it's too much trouble. When I asked if you were the famous Mr Tempest, I meant to say were you the great millionaire who has been so much talked of lately?"

I bowed a somewhat chill assent. She looked at me inquisitively over the lace edge of her fan.

"How delightful it must be for you to have so much money!" she said--"And you are young too, and good-looking."

Pleasure took the place of vexed _amour-propre_ and I smiled.

"You are very kind, Lady Sibyl!"

"Why?" she asked laughing,--such a delicious little low laugh--"Because I tell you the truth? You _are_ young and you _are_ good-looking! Millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. Fortune, while giving them money, frequently deprives them of both brains and personal attractiveness. And now do tell me about your book!"

She seemed to have suddenly dispensed with her former reserve, and during the last act of the play, we conversed freely, in whispers which assisted us to become almost confidential. Her manner to me now was full of grace and charm, and the fascination she exerted over my senses became complete. The performance over, we all left the box together, and as Lucio was still apparently engrossed with Lord Elton I had the satisfaction of escorting Lady Sibyl to her carriage. When her father joined her, Lucio and I both stood together looking in at the window of the brougham, and the Earl, getting hold of my hand shook it up and down with boisterous friendliness.

"Come and dine,--come and dine!" he spluttered excitedly; "Come--let me see,--this is Tuesday--come on Thursday. Short notice and no ceremony! My wife is paralysed I'm sorry to say,--she can't receive,--she can only see a few people now and then when she is in the humour,--her sister keeps house and does the honours,--Aunt Charlotte, eh Sibyl?--ha-ha-ha! The Deceased Wife's Sister's Bill would never be any use to me, for if my wife were to die I shouldn't be anxious to marry Miss Charlotte Fitzroy! Ha ha ha! A perfectly unapproachable woman sir!--a model,--ha ha! Come and dine with us, Mr Tempest,--Lucio, you bring him along with you, eh? We've got a young lady staying with us,--an American, dollars, accent and all,--and by Jove I believe she wants to marry me ha ha ha! and is waiting for Lady Elton to go to a better world first, ha ha! Come along--come and see the little American, eh? Thursday shall it be?"

Over the fair features of Lady Sibyl there passed a faint shadow of annoyance at her father's allusion to the "little American," but she said nothing. Only her looks appeared to question our intentions as well as to persuade our wills, and she seemed satisfied when we both accepted the invitation given. Another apoplectic chuckle from the Earl and a couple of handshakes,--a slight graceful bow from her lovely ladyship, as we raised our hats in farewell, and the Elton equipage rolled away, leaving us to enter our own vehicle, which amid the officious roarings of street-boys and policemen had just managed to draw up in front of the theatre. As we drove off, Lucio peered inquisitively at me--I could see the steely glitter of his fine eyes in the semi-darkness of the brougham,--and said--

"Well?"

I was silent.

"Don't you admire her?" he went on--"I must confess she is cold,--a very chilly vestal indeed,--but snow often covers volcanoes! She has good features, and a naturally clear complexion."

Despite my intention to be reticent, I could not endure this tame description.

"She is perfectly beautiful,"--I said emphatically. "The dullest eyes must see that. There is not a fault to be found with her. And she is wise to be reserved and cold--were she too lavish of her smiles and too seductive in manner, she might drive many men not only into folly, but madness."

I felt rather than saw the cat-like glance he flashed upon me.

"Positively, Geoffrey, I believe that notwithstanding the fact that we are only in February, the wind blows upon you due south, bringing with it odours of rose and orange-blossom! I fancy Lady Sibyl has powerfully impressed you?"

"Did you wish me to be impressed?" I asked.

"I? My dear fellow, I wish nothing that you yourself do not wish. I accommodate my ways to my friends' humours. If asked for my opinion I should say it is rather a pity if you are really smitten with the young lady, as there are no obstacles to be encountered. A love-affair, to be conducted with spirit and enterprise should always bristle with opposition and difficulty, real or invented. A little secrecy and a good deal of wrong-doing, such as sly assignations and the telling of any amount of lies--such things add to the agreeableness of love-making on this planet--"

I interrupted him.

"See here, Lucio, you are very fond of alluding to 'this' planet as if you knew anything about other planets"--I said impatiently. "_This_ planet, as you somewhat contemptuously call it, is the only one _we_ have any business with."

He bent his piercing looks so ardently upon me that for the moment I was startled.

"If that is so," he answered, "why in Heaven's name do you not let the other planets alone? Why do you strive to fathom their mysteries and movements? If men, as you say, have no business with any planet save this one why are they ever on the alert to discover the secret of mightier worlds,--a secret which haply it may some day terrify them to know!"

The solemnity of his voice and the inspired expression of his face awed me. I had no reply ready, and he went on--

"Do not let us talk, my friend, of planets, not even of this particular pin's point among them known as Earth. Let us return to a better subject--the Lady Sibyl. As I have already said, there are no obstacles in the way of your wooing and winning her, if such is your desire. Geoffrey Tempest, as mere author of books would indeed be insolent to aspire to the hand of an earl's daughter, but Geoffrey Tempest, millionaire, will be a welcome suitor. Poor Lord Elton's affairs are in a bad way--he is almost out-at-elbows;--the American woman who is boarding with him----"

"Boarding with him!" I exclaimed--"Surely he does not keep a boarding-house?"

Lucio laughed heartily.

"No, no!--you must not put it so coarsely, Geoffrey. It is simply this, that the Earl and Countess of Elton give the prestige of their home and protection to Miss Diana Chesney (the American aforesaid) for the trifling sum of two thousand guineas per annum. The Countess being paralyzed, is obliged to hand over her duties of chaperonage to her sister Miss Charlotte Fitzroy,--but the halo of the coronet still hovers over Miss Chesney's brow. She has her own suite of rooms in the house, and goes wherever it is proper for her to go, under Miss Fitzroy's care. Lady Sibyl does not like the arrangement, and is therefore never seen anywhere except with her father. She will not join in companionship with Miss Chesney, and has said so pretty plainly."

"I admire her for it!" I said warmly--"I really am surprised that Lord Elton should condescend----"

"Condescend to what?" inquired Lucio--"Condescend to take two thousand guineas a year? Good heavens man, there are no end of lords and ladies who will readily agree to perform such an act of condescension. 'Blue' blood is getting thin and poor, and only money can thicken it. Diana Chesney is worth over a million dollars and if Lady Elton were to die conveniently soon, I should not be surprised to see that 'little American' step triumphantly into her vacant place."

"What a state of topsy-turveydom!" I said, half angrily.

"Geoffrey, my friend, you are really amazingly inconsistent! Is there a more flagrant example of topsy-turveydom than yourself for instance? Six weeks ago, what were you? A mere scribbler, with flutterings of the wings of genius in your soul, but many uncertainties as to whether those wings would ever be strong enough to lift you out of the rut of obscurity in which you floundered, struggling and grumbling at adverse fate. Now, as millionaire, you think contemptuously of an Earl, because he ventures quite legitimately to add a little to his income by boarding an American heiress and launching her into society where she would never get without him. And you aspire, or probably mean to aspire to the hand of the Earl's daughter, as if you yourself were a descendant of kings. Nothing can be more topsy-turvey than _your_ condition!"

"My father was a gentleman," I said, with a touch of hauteur, "and a descendant of gentlemen. We were never common folk,--our family was one of the most highly esteemed in the counties."

Lucio smiled.

"I do not doubt it, my dear fellow,--I do not in the least doubt it. But a simple 'gentleman' is a long way below--or above--an Earl. Have it which side you choose!--because it really doesn't matter nowadays. We have come to a period of history when rank and lineage count as nothing at all, owing to the profoundly obtuse stupidity of those who happen to possess it. So it chances, that as no resistance is made, brewers are created peers of the realm, and ordinary tradesmen are knighted, and the very old families are so poor that they have to sell their estates and jewels to the highest bidder, who is frequently a vulgar 'railway-king' or the introducer of some new manure. You occupy a better position than such, since you inherit your money with the farther satisfaction that you do not know how it was made."

"True!" I answered meditatively,--then, with a sudden flash of recollection I added--"By the way I never told you that my deceased relative imagined that he had sold his soul to the devil, and that this vast fortune of his was the material result!"

Lucio burst into a violent fit of laughter.

"No! Not possible!" he exclaimed derisively--"What an idea! I suppose he had a screw loose somewhere! Imagine any sane man believing in a devil! Ha, ha, ha! And in these advanced days too! Well, well! The folly of human imaginations will never end! Here we are!"--and he sprang lightly out as the brougham stopped at the Grand Hotel--"I will say good-night to you, Tempest. I've promised to go and have a gamble."

"A gamble? Where?"

"At one of the select private clubs. There are any amount of them in this eminently moral metropolis--no occasion to go to Monte Carlo! Will you come?"

I hesitated. The fair face of Lady Sibyl haunted my mind,--and I felt, with a no doubt foolish sentimentality, that I would rather keep my thoughts of her sacred, and unpolluted by contact with things of lower tone.

"Not to-night;"--I said,--then half smiling, I added--"It must be rather a one-sided affair for other men to gamble with you, Lucio! You can afford to lose,--and perhaps they can't."

"If they can't, they shouldn't play,"--he answered--"A man should at least know his own mind and his own capacity; if he doesn't, he is no man at all. As far as I have learned by long experience, those who gamble like it, and when _they_ like it, _I_ like it. I'll take you with me to-morrow if you care to see the fun,--one or two very eminent men are members of the club, though of course they wouldn't have it known for worlds. You shan't lose much--I'll see to that."

"All right,--to-morrow it shall be!"--I responded, for I did not wish to appear as though I grudged losing a few pounds at play--"But to-night I think I'll write some letters before going to bed."

"Yes--and dream of Lady Sibyl!" said Lucio laughing--"If she fascinates you as much when you see her again on Thursday you had better begin the siege!"

He waved his hand gaily, and re-entering his carriage, was driven off at a furious pace through the drifting fog and rain.

IX

My publisher, John Morgeson,--the estimable individual who had first refused my book, and who now, moved by self-interest, was devoting his energies assiduously to the business of launching it in the most modern and approved style, was not like Shakespeare's _Cassio_, strictly 'an honourable man.' Neither was he the respectable chief of a long-established firm whose system of the cheating of authors, mellowed by time, had become almost sacred;--he was a 'new' man, with new ways, and a good stock of new push and impudence. All the same, he was clever, shrewd and diplomatic, and for some reason or other, had secured the favour of a certain portion of the press, many of the dailies and weeklies always giving special prominence to his publications over the heads of other far more legitimately dealing firms. He entered into a partial explanation of his methods, when, on the morning after my first meeting with the Earl of Elton and his daughter, I called upon him to inquire how things were going with regard to my book.

"We shall publish next week,"--he said, rubbing his hands complacently, and addressing me with all the deference due to my banking account--"And as you don't mind what you spend, I'll tell you just what I propose to do. I intend to write out a mystifying paragraph of about some seventy lines or so, describing the book in a vague sort of way as '_likely to create a new era of thought_'--or, '_ere long everybody who is anybody will be compelled to read this remarkable work_,'--or '_as something that must be welcome to all who would understand the drift of one of the most delicate and burning questions of the time_.' These are all stock phrases, used over and over again by the reviewers,--there's no copyright in them. And the last one always 'tells' wonderfully, considering how old it is, and how often it has been made to do duty, because any allusion to a '_delicate and burning question_' makes a number of people think the novel must be improper, and they send for it at once!"

He chuckled at his own perspicuity, and I sat silent, studying him with much inward amusement. This man on whose decision I had humbly and anxiously waited not so many weeks ago was now my paid tool,--ready to obey me to any possible extent for so much cash,--and I listened to him indulgently while he went on unravelling his schemes for the gratification of _my_ vanity, and the pocketing of _his_ extras.

"The book has been splendidly advertised"--he went on; "It could not have been more lavishly done. Orders do not come in very fast yet--but they will,--they will. This paragraph of mine, which will take the shape of a 'leaderette,' I can get inserted in about eight hundred to a thousand newspapers here and in America. It will cost you,--say a hundred guineas--perhaps a trifle more. Do you mind that?"

"Not in the least!" I replied, still vastly amused.

He meditated a moment,--then drew his chair closer to mine and lowered his voice a little.

"You understand I suppose, that I shall only issue two hundred and fifty copies at first?"

This limited number seemed to me absurd, and I protested vehemently.

"Such an idea is ridiculous!" I said--"you cannot supply the trade with such a scanty edition."

"Wait, my dear sir, wait,--you are too impatient. You do not give me time to explain. All these two hundred and fifty will be _given away_ by me in the proper quarters on the day of publication,--never mind how,--they _must_ be given away--"

"Why?"

"Why?" and the worthy Morgeson laughed sweetly--"I see, my dear Mr Tempest, you are like most men of genius--you do not understand business. The reason why we give the first two hundred and fifty copies away is in order to be able to announce at once in all the papers that '_The First Large Edition of the New Novel by Geoffrey Tempest being exhausted on the day of publication, a Second is in Rapid Preparation_.' You see we thus hoodwink the public, who of course are not in our secrets, and are not to know whether an edition is two hundred or two thousand. The Second Edition will of course be ready behind the scenes, and will consist of another two hundred and fifty."

"Do you call that course of procedure honest?" I asked quietly.

"Honest? My dear sir! Honest?" And his countenance wore a virtuously injured expression--"Of course it is honest! Look at the daily papers! Such announcements appear every day--in fact they are getting rather too common. I freely admit that there are a few publishers here and there who stick up for exactitude and go to the trouble of not only giving the number of copies in an Edition, but also publishing the date of each one as it was issued,--this may be principle if they like to call it so, but it involves a great deal of precise calculation and worry! If the public like to be deceived, what is the use of being exact! Now, to resume,--your second edition will be sent off 'on sale or return' to provincial booksellers, and then we shall announce--"In consequence of the Enormous Demand for the new novel by Geoffrey Tempest, the Large Second Edition is out of print. A Third will be issued in the course of next week." And so on, and so on, till we get to the sixth or seventh edition (always numbering two hundred and fifty each) in three volumes; perhaps we can by skilful management work it to a tenth. It is only a question of diplomacy and a little dexterous humbugging of the trade. Then we shall arrive at the one-volume issue, which will require different handling. But there's time enough for that. The frequent advertisements will add to the expense a bit, but if you don't mind--"

"I don't mind anything," I said--"so long as I have my fun."

"Your fun?" he queried surprisedly--"I thought it was fame you wanted, more than fun!"

I laughed aloud.

"I'm not such a fool as to suppose that fame is secured by advertisement," I said--"For instance I am one of those who think the fame of Millais as an artist was marred when he degraded himself to the level of painting the little green boy blowing bubbles of Pears's Soap. That was an advertisement. And that very incident in his career, trifling though it seems, will prevent his ever standing on the same dignified height of distinction with such masters in art as Romney, Sir Peter Lely, Gainsborough or Reynolds."

"I believe there is a great deal of justice in what you say;" and Morgeson shook his head wisely--"Viewed from a purely artistic and sentimental standpoint you are right." And he became suddenly downcast and dubious. "Yes,--it is a most extraordinary thing how fame does escape people sometimes just when they seem on the point of grasping it. They are 'boomed' in every imaginable way, and yet after a time nothing will keep them up. And there are others again who get kicked and buffeted and mocked and derided----"

"Like Christ?" I interposed with a half smile. He looked shocked,--he was a Non-conformist,--but remembering in time how rich I was, he bowed with a meek patience.

"Yes"--and he sighed--"as you suggest, Mr Tempest, like Christ. Mocked and derided and opposed at every turn,--and yet by the queerest caprice of destiny, they succeed in winning a world-wide fame and power----"

"Like Christ again!" I said mischievously, for I loved to jar his non-conformist conscience.

"Exactly!" He paused, looking piously down. Then with a return of secular animation he added--"But I was not thinking of the Great Example just then, Mr Tempest--I was thinking of a woman."

"Indeed!" I said indifferently.

"Yes--a woman, who despite continued abuse and opposition is rapidly becoming celebrated. You are sure to hear of her in literary and social circles"--and he gave me a furtive glance of doubtful inquiry--"but she is not rich, you know,--only famous. However,--we have nothing to do with her just now--so let us return to business. The one uncertain point in the matter of your book's success is the attitude of the critics. There are only six leading men who do the reviews, and between them they cover all the English magazines and some of the American too, as well as the London papers. Here are their names"--and he handed me a pencilled memorandum,--"and their addresses, as far as I can ascertain them, or the addresses of the papers for which they most frequently write. The man at the head of the list, David McWhing, is the most formidable of the lot. He writes everywhere about everything,--being a Scotchman he's bound to have his finger in every pie. If you can secure McWhing, you need not trouble so much about the others, as he generally gives the 'lead,' and has his own way with the editors. He is one of the 'personal friends' of the editor of the _Nineteenth Century_ for example, and you would be sure to get a notice there, which would otherwise be impossible. No reviewer _can_ review anything for that magazine unless he _is_ one of the editor's friends.[2] You must manage McWhing, or he might, just for the sake of 'showing off,' cut you up rather roughly."

"That would not matter," I said, diverted at the idea of 'managing McWhing,'--"A little slating always helps a book to sell."

"In some cases it does,"--and Morgeson stroked his thin beard perplexedly--"But in others it most emphatically does _not_. Where there is any very decided or daring originality, adverse criticism is always the most effective. But a work like yours requires fostering with favour,--wants 'booming' in short----"

"I see!" and I felt distinctly annoyed--"You don't think my book original enough to stand alone?"

"My dear sir!--you are really--really--! what shall I say?" and he smiled apologetically--"a little brusque? I think your book shows admirable scholarship and delicacy of thought,--if I find fault with it at all, it is perhaps because I am dense. The only thing it lacks in my opinion is what I should call _tenaciousness_, for want of a better expression,--the quality of holding the reader's fancy fixed like a nail. But after all this is a common failing of modern literature; few authors feel sufficiently themselves to make others feel."

I made no reply for a moment. I was thinking of Lucio's remarks on this very same subject.

"Well!" I said at last--"If I had no feeling when I wrote the book, I certainly have none now. Why man, I felt every line of it!--painfully and intensely!"