A Great Success | Page 2

the scenes--had been given verbatim and
with much preliminary trumpeting in two or three Tory newspapers,
and had produced a real sensation, of that mild sort which alone the
British public--that does not love lectures--is capable of receiving from
the report of one. Persons in the political world had relished its plain
speaking; dames and counsellors of the Primrose League had read the
praise with avidity, and skipped the criticism; while the mere men and
women of letters had appreciated a style crisp, unhackneyed, and alive.
The second lecture on "Lord George Bentinck" had been crowded, and
the crowd had included several Cabinet Ministers, and those great
ladies of the moment who gather like vultures to the feast on any
similar occasion. The third lecture, on "Palmerston and Lord
John"--had been not only crowded, but crowded out, and London was
by now fully aware that it possessed in Arthur Meadows a person
capable of painting a series of La Bruyère-like portraits of modern men,
as vivid, biting, and "topical"--_mutatis mutandis_--as the great French
series were in their day.
Applications for the coming lecture on "Lord Randolph" were arriving
by every post, and those to follow after--on men just dead, and others
still alive--would probably have to be given in a much larger hall than
that at present engaged, so certain was intelligent London that in going
to hear Arthur Meadows on the most admired--or the most
detested--personalities of the day, they at least ran no risk of
wishy-washy panegyric, or a dull caution. Meadows had proved
himself daring both in compliment and attack; nothing could be sharper
than his thrusts, or more Olympian than his homage. There were those
indeed who talked of "airs" and "mannerisms," but their faint voices

were lost in the general shouting.
"Wonderful!" said Doris, at last, looking up from the last of these
epistles. "I really didn't know, Arthur, you were such a great man."
Her eyes rested on him with a fond but rather puzzled expression.
"Well, of course, dear, you've always seen the seamy side of me," said
Meadows, with the slightest change of tone and a laugh. "Perhaps now
you'll believe me when I say that I'm not always lazy when I seem
so--that a man must have time to think, and smoke, and dawdle, if he's
to write anything decent, and can't always rush at the first job that
offers. When you thought I was idling--I wasn't! I was gathering up
impressions. Then came an attractive piece of work--one that suited
me--and I rose to it. There, you see!"
He threw back his Jovian head, with a look at his wife, half combative,
half merry.
Doris's forehead puckered a little.
"Well, thank Heaven that it has turned out well!" she said, with a deep
breath. "Where we should have been if it hadn't I'm sure I don't know!
And, as it is--By the way, Arthur, have you got that packet ready for
New York?" Her tone was quick and anxious.
"What, the proofs of 'Dizzy'? Oh, goodness, that'll do any time. Don't
bother, Doris. I'm really rather done--and this post is--well, upon my
word, it's overwhelming!" And, gathering up the letters, he threw
himself with an air of fatigue into a long chair, his hands behind his
head. "Perhaps after tea and a cigarette I shall feel more fit."
"Arthur!--you know to-morrow is the last day for catching the New
York mail."
"Well, hang it, if I don't catch it, they must wait, that's all!" said
Meadows peevishly. "If they won't take it, somebody else will."

"They" represented the editor and publisher of a famous New York
magazine, who had agreed by cable to give a large sum for the "Dizzy"
lecture, provided it reached them by a certain date.
Doris twisted her lip.
"Arthur, do think of the bills!"
"Darling, don't be a nuisance! If I succeed I shall make money. And if
this isn't a success I don't know what is." He pointed to the letters on
his lap, an impatient gesture which dislodged a certain number of them,
so that they came rustling to the floor.
"Hullo!--here's one you haven't opened. Another coronet! Gracious! I
believe it's the woman who asked us to dinner a fortnight ago, and we
couldn't go."
Meadows sat up with a jerk, all languor dispelled, and held out his hand
for the letter.
"Lady Dunstable! By George! I thought she'd ask us,--though you don't
deserve it, Doris, for you didn't take any trouble at all about her first
invitation--"
"We were engaged!" cried Doris, interrupting him, her eyebrows
mounting.
"We could have got out of it perfectly. But now, listen to this:
"Dear Mr. Meadows,--I hope your wife will excuse my writing to you
instead of to her, as you and I are already acquainted.