The Yellow Book Volume I Part 12

_Lucy._ And will people know who the "Lady Luce" is?

_Harold._ They will some day. The dedication in my next book shall be "To my Lady Wife."

_Lucy._ I wonder if I shall ever be that. It seems so long coming.

_Harold._ I don't mind when it is--to-morrow, if you like.

_Lucy._ Don't talk nonsense, although it is my fault for beginning it.

And now sit down--no, here in the arm-chair--and you shall have some nice tea.

[_She makes and pours out the tea as Harold talks._]

_Harold._ You won't have to wait long if this proves a success: and it will be one. I know it; I feel it. It isn't only that everybody who has read it, likes it; it's something else that I can't describe, not even to you; a feeling inside, that--call it conceit if you like, but it isn't conceit; it isn't conceit to feel confidence in oneself. Why, look at the trash, the arrant trash, that succeeds every day; you will say, perhaps, that it succeeds because it is trash, that trash is what people want--they certainly get it. But no book that ever had real stuff in it has failed yet, and I feel that--Ha! ha! the same old feeling mentioned above. Don't think me an awful prig, Luce. I don't talk to anybody else as I do to you; and if you only knew what a relief it is to me to let myself go a bit occasionally, you would excuse everything.

_Lucy._ You have a right to be conceited.

_Harold._ Not yet. I have done nothing yet; but I mean to. [_Takes up the book._] I wonder what will become of you and your fellows; what will be your future? Will you one day adorn the shelves of libraries, figure in catalogues of "Rare books and first editions," and be contended for by snuffy, long-clothed bibliomaniacs, who will bid one against the other for the honour of possessing you? Or will you descend to the tables of secondhand book-stalls marked at a great reduction; or lie in a heap, with other lumber, outside the shop-front, all this lot sixpence each, awaiting there, uncared for, unnoticed, and unknown, your ultimate destination, the dust-hole?

_Lucy._ You are horrid. What an idea!

_Harold._ No, I don't think that will be your end. [_Puts down the book._] You are not going to the dustbin, you are going to be a success.

No more hack work for me after this. Why, supposing only the first edition is sold, I more than clear expenses, and if it runs to two--ten--twenty editions, I shall receive--the amount fairly takes my breath away. Twentieth thousand; doesn't it sound fine? We shall have our mansion in Grosvenor Square yet, Luce; and that charming, little old house we saw the other day up the river--we'll have that, too; so that we can run down here from Sat.u.r.day to Monday, to get away from London fog and nastiness. Yes, I am going to be rich some day--rich--in ten years' time, if this book gets a fair start and I have anything like decent luck, I shall be the best known author in England. [_Rises._] The son of the old bookseller who failed will be able then to repay those who helped him when he wanted help, and, more delightful thought still, pay back those with interest who did their best to keep him down, when they could just as easily have helped him to rise. I am going to have a success, I feel it. In a few weeks' time I'll bring you a batch of criticisms that will astonish you. But what is the matter? why so silent all of a sudden? has my long and conceited tirade disgusted you?

_Lucy._ No, not at all.

_Harold._ Then what is it?

_Lucy._ I was only thinking that--[_hesitates_].

_Harold._ Thinking what? About me:

_Lucy._ Yes, about you and--and also about myself.

_Harold._ That is just as it should be, about us two together.

_Lucy._ Yes, but I was afraid----

_Harold._ [_Smiling._] Afraid! what of?

_Lucy._ Nothing, nothing really. I am ashamed that--let me give you some more tea.

_Harold._ No, thanks. Come, let me hear, make a clean breast of it.

_Lucy._ I can't, really; you would only laugh at me.

_Harold._ Then why deny me a pleasure, for you know I love to laugh?

_Lucy._ Well, then--if you become famous--and rich----

_Harold._ If I do; well?

_Lucy._ You won't--you won't forget me, will you?

_Harold._ Forget you, what an idea! Why do I want to become famous? why do I want to become rich? For my own sake? for the sake of the money?

Neither. I want it for your sake, so that you can be rich; so that you can have everything you can possibly want. I don't mind roughing it a bit myself, but----

_Lucy._ No more do I: I am sure we might be very happy living even here.

_Harold._ No, thank you; no second pair fronts for me, or, rather, none for my wife. I want you to forget all about this place, as though it had never existed; I want you to only remember your giving lessons as a nightmare which has pa.s.sed and gone. I want you to take a position in the world, to go into society----

_Lucy._ But, Harold----

_Harold._ To entertain, receive, lead----

_Lucy._ But I could never lead. I detest receiving. I hate entertaining----

_Harold._ Except me.

_Lucy._ I often wonder if I do. You are so clever and I----

_Harold._ Such a goose. Whatever put such ideas into your head? Why, you are actually crying.

_Lucy._ I am not.

_Harold._ Then what is that? [_Puts his finger against her cheek._] What is that little sparkling drop?

_Lucy._ It must be a tear of joy, then.

_Harold._ Which shall be used to christen the book!

_Lucy._ Oh, don't--there, you have left a mark.

_Harold._ It is your fault. My finger wouldn't have done it by itself.

Are you going to be silly any more?

_Lucy._ No, I am not.

_Harold._ And you are going to love me, believe in me, and trust me?

_Lucy._ I do all three--implicitly.

_Harold._ [_He kisses her._] The seal of the trinity. [_Looks at his watch._] By jove, I must be going.

_Lucy._ So soon?

_Harold._ Rather; I have to dine in Berkeley Square at eight o'clock, at Sir Humphrey Mockton's. You would like their house, it's a beauty, a seventeenth or eighteenth century one, with such a gorgeous old staircase. He's awfully rich, and just a little bit vulgar--"wool" I think it was, or "cottons," or some other commodity; but his daughter is charming--I should say daughters, as there are two of them, so you needn't be jealous.

_Lucy._ Jealous? of course I am not. Have you known them long?