The Time of Roses Part 38

"What nonsense! It is to be published, and I shall see it then."

"Well, read it, if you must, when it is in the paper; only I would rather you didn't read it at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't like it."

"Why do you write what you don't like?" said Edith, fixing her sharp eyes on her new friend's face.

"One does all sorts of things perhaps without reason; one writes as one is impelled," said Florence.

Edith went up to her, and after a brief argument possessed herself of the long slip of proof she was holding in her hand.

"I am going to read it now," she said; "I always said you were neurotic: even your talents tend in that direction. Oh, good gracious! what an extraordinary opening sentence! You are a queer girl!"

Edith read on to the end. She then handed the paper back to Florence.

"What do you think of it?" said Florence, noticing that she was silent.

"I hate it."

"I thought you would. Oh. Edith, I am glad!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Because I so cordially hate it too."

"I would not publish it if I were in your place," said Edith; "it may do harm. It is against the woman who is struggling so bravely. It turns her n.o.blest feelings into ridicule. Why do you write such things, Florence?"

"One cannot help one's self; you know that," replied Florence.

"Rubbis.h.!.+ One can always help doing wrong. You have been queer all through. I cannot pretend to understand you. But there, as Tom admires it so much, I suppose it must go into the paper. Will you put it into an envelope, and I will post it?"

Florence did so. She directed the envelope to the editor, and Edith took it out with her.

As she was leaving the room, she turned to Florence and said: "Try and make your next thing more healthy. I hope to goodness very few people will read this; it is bad from first to last."

She ran downstairs. Just as she was about to drop the little packet into the pillar-box, she glanced at her watch.

"I shall have time to go and see Tom. I don't like this thing," she said to herself. "Miss Aylmer ought not to write what will do direct harm.

The person who has written this paper might well not believe in any G.o.d.

I don't like it. It ought not to be published. I will speak to Tom about it. Some of the worst pa.s.sages might at least be altered or expunged."

Edith hailed a hansom, was taken Citywards, and found herself in her brother's own private room shortly before he was finis.h.i.+ng for the day.

"Here is the work of your precious protegee," she said, flinging the ma.n.u.script on Tom's desk. He took it up.

"Has she corrected it? That's right; I want to send it to the printer.

By the way, Edith, have you read it?"

"I grieve to say I have."

Tom Franks looked at her in a puzzled way.

"Why do you speak in that tone?"

"Because it is so horrible and so false, Tom. Why do you publish it?"

"You agree with Mr. Anderson; he doesn't like it either."

"Don't send it to the printers like that. Poor Florence must be a little mad. Cut out some of the pa.s.sages. Give it to me, and I'll show you.

This one, for instance, and this."

Tom Franks took the paper from her.

"It goes in entire, or it does not go in at all," he said; "its cleverness will carry the day. I must speak to Miss Aylmer. She must not give vent to her true feelings; in future, she must put a check on them."

"She must have a terrible mind," said Edith. "If I had known it, I don't think I could have made her my friend."

"Oh, don't give her up now," said Tom; "poor girl, she is to be pitied."

"Of course she is; great talent like hers often means a tendency to insanity. I must watch her; she is a curious and interesting study."

"She is monstrously clever," said Tom Franks; "I admire her very much."

Edith, feeling that she had done no good, left the office.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

A LETTER FROM HOME.

In due time the first number of the new weekly paper appeared, and Florence's article was on the leading page. It created, as Tom Franks knew it would, a good deal of criticism. It met with a shower of abuse from one party, and warm notices, full of congratulation, from another.

It certainly increased the sale of the paper and made people look eagerly forward to the next work of the rising star.

Florence, who would not glance at the paper once it had appeared, and who did her utmost to forget Bertha's work, tried to believe that she was happy. She had now really as much money as she needed to spend, and was able to send her mother cheques.

Mrs. Aylmer was in the seventh heaven of bliss. As to Sukey, she was perfectly sick of hearing of Miss Florence's talents and Miss Florence's success. Mrs. Aylmer the less thought it high time to write a congratulatory letter to her daughter.

"My dear Flo," she wrote, "you are the talk of the place. I never knew anything like it. I am invaded by visitors. I am leading quite a picnic life, hardly ever having a meal at home, and with your cheques I am able to dress myself properly. Sukey also enjoys the change. But why, my dear love, don't you send copies of that wonderful magazine, and that extraordinary review, to your loving mother? I have just suggested to a whole number of your admirers to meet me at this house on Wednesday next, when I propose to read aloud to them either your article in the _General Review_ or one of your stories in the _Argonaut_. Do send me the copies, dear; I have failed hitherto to get them."

At this point in her letter Mrs. Aylmer broke off abruptly. There had come a great blot of ink on the paper, as if her pen had suddenly fallen from her hand. Later on the letter was continued, but in a different tone.

"Our clergyman, Mr. Walker, has just been to see me. What do you think he has come about? He brought your paper with him and read pa.s.sages of it aloud. He said that it was my duty immediately to see you, and to do my utmost to get you into a better frame of mind.