“I am, dear Miss Lind,
“Yours sincerely,
“EDWARD CONOLLY. ”
This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations set forth in it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just what she should have hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the quaint earnestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as she thought) of the advantages which she might forfeit by marrying him, there was just enough of the workman to make them characteristic. She wished that she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She was afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off, occupied herself during the forenoon with her household duties, with some pianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuade herself were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient of further delay. She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, and re-read the letter resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she read it again. The third time she liked it better than the first; and she would have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of Mrs. Leith Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to go to Burlington House.
“It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy,” said Mrs. Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. “I have been there at the press view, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, of course, I am expected to be there.”
“If I were in your place,” said Elinor, “I——”
“Last night,” continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her, “I was not in bed until half-past two o’clock. On the night before, I was up until five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all.”
“Why do you do such things?” said Marian.
“My dear, I must. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on Tuesday at three o’clock, and said he must have an article on the mango experiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. For his paper, the Fortnightly Naturalist, you know. ‘My dear John Metcalf,’ I said, ‘I dont know what a mango is.’ ‘No more do I, Mrs. Leith Fairfax,’ said he: ‘I think it’s something that blooms only once in a hundred years. No matter what it is, you must let me have the article. Nobody else can do it.’ I told him it was impossible. My London letter for the Hari Kari was not even begun; and the last post to catch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the morning. I had an article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had been shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. ‘If you were to go down on your knees,’ I said, ‘I could not find time to read up the flora of the West Indies and finish an article before morning.’ He went down on his knees. ‘Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax,’ said he, ‘I am going to stay here until you promise.’ What could I do but promise and get rid of him? I did it, too: how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf told me yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the Society for Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, and the greatest living authority on the subject, has got the credit of having written my article.”
“How flattered he must feel!” said Elinor.
“What article had you to write for papa?” said Marian.
“On the electro-motor—the Conolly electro-motor. I went down to the City on Wednesday, and saw it working. It is most wonderful, and very interesting. Mr. Conolly explained it to me himself. I was able to follow every step that his mind has made in inventing it. I remember him as a common workman. He fitted the electric bell in my study four years ago with his own hands. You may remember that we met him at a concert once. He is a thorough man of business. The Company is making upward of fifty pounds an hour by the motor at present; and they expect their receipts to be a thousand a day next year. My article will be in the Dynamic Statistician next week. Have you seen Sholto Douglas since he came back from the continent?”