New Grub Street [79]
saying:
'Are your sisters in town, Mr Milvain?'
'Yes. We came up two days ago. I found lodgings for them not far from Mornington Road. Poor girls! they don't quite know where they are, yet. Of course they will keep very quiet for a time, then I must try to get friends for them. Well, they have one already--your cousin, Miss Yule. She has already been to see them.'
'I'm very glad of that.'
Amy took an opportunity of studying his face. There was again a silence as if of constraint. Reardon, glancing at his wife, said with hesitation:
'When they care to see other visitors, I'm sure Amy would be very glad--'
'Certainly!' his wife added.
'Thank you very much. Of course I knew I could depend on Mrs Reardon to show them kindness in that way. But let me speak frankly of something. My sisters have made quite a friend of Miss Yule, since she was down there last year. Wouldn't that'--he turned to Amy--'cause you a little awkwardness?'
Amy had a difficulty in replying. She kept her eyes on the ground.
'You have had no quarrel with your cousin,' remarked Reardon.
'None whatever. It's only my mother and my uncle.'
'I can't imagine Miss Yule having a quarrel with anyone,' said Jasper. Then he added quickly: 'Well, things must shape themselves naturally. We shall see. For the present they will be fully occupied. Of course it's best that they should be. I shall see them every day, and Miss Yule will come pretty often, I dare say.'
Reardon caught Amy's eye, but at once looked away again.
'My word!' exclaimed Milvain, after a moment's meditation. 'It's well this didn't happen a year ago. The girls have no income; only a little cash to go on with. We shall have our work set. It's a precious lucky thing that I have just got a sort of footing.'
Reardon muttered an assent.
'And what are you doing now?' Jasper inquired suddenly.
'Writing a one-volume story.'
'I'm glad to hear that. Any special plan for its publication?'
'No.'
'Then why not offer it to Jedwood? He's publishing a series of one-volume novels. You know of Jedwood, don't you? He was Culpepper's manager; started business about half a year ago, and it looks as if he would do well. He married that woman--what's her name?--Who wrote "Mr Henderson's Wives"?'
'Never heard of it.'
'Nonsense!--Miss Wilkes, of course. Well, she married this fellow Jedwood, and there was a great row about something or other between him and her publishers. Mrs Boston Wright told me all about it. An astonishing woman that; a cyclopaedia of the day's small talk. I'm quite a favourite with her; she's promised to help the girls all she can. Well, but I was talking about Jedwood. Why not offer him this book of yours? He's eager to get hold of the new writers. Advertises hugely; he has the whole back page of The Study about every other week. I suppose Miss Wilkes's profits are paying for it. He has just given Markland two hundred pounds for a paltry little tale that would scarcely swell out to a volume. Markland told me himself. You know that I've scraped an acquaintance with him? Oh! I suppose I haven't seen you since then. He's a dwarfish fellow with only one eye. Mrs Boston Wright cries him up at every opportunity.'
'Who IS Mrs Boston Wright?' asked Reardon, laughing impatiently.
'Edits The English Girl, you know. She's had an extraordinary life. Was born in Mauritius--no, Ceylon--I forget; some such place. Married a sailor at fifteen. Was shipwrecked somewhere, and only restored to life after terrific efforts;--her story leaves it all rather vague. Then she turns up as a newspaper correspondent at the Cape. Gave up that, and took to some kind of farming, I forget where. Married again (first husband lost in aforementioned shipwreck), this time a Baptist minister, and began to devote herself to soup-kitchens in Liverpool. Husband burned to death, somewhere. She's next discovered in the thick of literary society in London. A wonderful woman, I assure you. Must be nearly fifty, but she looks twenty-five.'
He paused, then added impulsively:
'Let
'Are your sisters in town, Mr Milvain?'
'Yes. We came up two days ago. I found lodgings for them not far from Mornington Road. Poor girls! they don't quite know where they are, yet. Of course they will keep very quiet for a time, then I must try to get friends for them. Well, they have one already--your cousin, Miss Yule. She has already been to see them.'
'I'm very glad of that.'
Amy took an opportunity of studying his face. There was again a silence as if of constraint. Reardon, glancing at his wife, said with hesitation:
'When they care to see other visitors, I'm sure Amy would be very glad--'
'Certainly!' his wife added.
'Thank you very much. Of course I knew I could depend on Mrs Reardon to show them kindness in that way. But let me speak frankly of something. My sisters have made quite a friend of Miss Yule, since she was down there last year. Wouldn't that'--he turned to Amy--'cause you a little awkwardness?'
Amy had a difficulty in replying. She kept her eyes on the ground.
'You have had no quarrel with your cousin,' remarked Reardon.
'None whatever. It's only my mother and my uncle.'
'I can't imagine Miss Yule having a quarrel with anyone,' said Jasper. Then he added quickly: 'Well, things must shape themselves naturally. We shall see. For the present they will be fully occupied. Of course it's best that they should be. I shall see them every day, and Miss Yule will come pretty often, I dare say.'
Reardon caught Amy's eye, but at once looked away again.
'My word!' exclaimed Milvain, after a moment's meditation. 'It's well this didn't happen a year ago. The girls have no income; only a little cash to go on with. We shall have our work set. It's a precious lucky thing that I have just got a sort of footing.'
Reardon muttered an assent.
'And what are you doing now?' Jasper inquired suddenly.
'Writing a one-volume story.'
'I'm glad to hear that. Any special plan for its publication?'
'No.'
'Then why not offer it to Jedwood? He's publishing a series of one-volume novels. You know of Jedwood, don't you? He was Culpepper's manager; started business about half a year ago, and it looks as if he would do well. He married that woman--what's her name?--Who wrote "Mr Henderson's Wives"?'
'Never heard of it.'
'Nonsense!--Miss Wilkes, of course. Well, she married this fellow Jedwood, and there was a great row about something or other between him and her publishers. Mrs Boston Wright told me all about it. An astonishing woman that; a cyclopaedia of the day's small talk. I'm quite a favourite with her; she's promised to help the girls all she can. Well, but I was talking about Jedwood. Why not offer him this book of yours? He's eager to get hold of the new writers. Advertises hugely; he has the whole back page of The Study about every other week. I suppose Miss Wilkes's profits are paying for it. He has just given Markland two hundred pounds for a paltry little tale that would scarcely swell out to a volume. Markland told me himself. You know that I've scraped an acquaintance with him? Oh! I suppose I haven't seen you since then. He's a dwarfish fellow with only one eye. Mrs Boston Wright cries him up at every opportunity.'
'Who IS Mrs Boston Wright?' asked Reardon, laughing impatiently.
'Edits The English Girl, you know. She's had an extraordinary life. Was born in Mauritius--no, Ceylon--I forget; some such place. Married a sailor at fifteen. Was shipwrecked somewhere, and only restored to life after terrific efforts;--her story leaves it all rather vague. Then she turns up as a newspaper correspondent at the Cape. Gave up that, and took to some kind of farming, I forget where. Married again (first husband lost in aforementioned shipwreck), this time a Baptist minister, and began to devote herself to soup-kitchens in Liverpool. Husband burned to death, somewhere. She's next discovered in the thick of literary society in London. A wonderful woman, I assure you. Must be nearly fifty, but she looks twenty-five.'
He paused, then added impulsively:
'Let