“Not at all—it had been recommended to her ladyship, he said, and he had been commanded on no account to return without it; her ladyship was liberal; she would not mind paying sixpence for it, instead of the ordinary fourpence.”
“That was more than liberal, it was generous to a degree,” said Fanny.
“Don't interrupt him,” cried Susy. “Continue your narrative, Eddy. I am dying to hear the rest.”
“I asked the library man if he knew who wrote the book, and he replied that he had heard the name, but had forgotten it; so far as he remembered the author was a peer of high rank but eccentric habits,” said Edward.
“The book represented his eccentric habits, I suppose,” remarked Fanny.
“I ran out of the place roaring,” said Edward. “'A peer of high rank but eccentric habits'—describes you to a T, doesn't it, Cousin Fanny? Pray what is your lordship's next work to be, and when will it be given to an eager world?”
“Is that all you have to tell?” asked Susy.
“By no means. When I heard that the book was thought well of in the Strand, I thought I would try to get at the opinion of Stanhope Street—you know Masterman's circulating library there? Well, I boldly entered, and there, sure enough, was a well-thumbed 'Evelina' in front of the librarian. I asked for some book that no one had ever heard of, and when the librarian had told me that he had never been asked for that book before, I pointed to 'Evelina,' inquiring if it was any good. 'I'm dead tired on account of its goodness, for I was fool enough to take it to bed with me last night, and I never closed my eyes in sleep,' he replied. 'I had it praised to me by a lady of quality, and so too hastily concluded that it would either send me asleep with its dullness, or shock me with its ribaldry; but it did neither, unhappily.' Just then a chariot stopped at the door and another footman entered with the name 'Evelina' written on a sheet of paper, and off he popped with the full three volumes under his arm. I waited no longer; but hurried hither to give you my news. I did not get so far, however, for I was unlucky enough to be overtaken by that vile downpour of rain, and it did not blow over until your dinner hour was at hand.”
“You are my good angel,” cried Fanny, her cheeks glowing. “We have heard nothing of all this respecting the book, and, hearing nothing, we took it for granted that it was dead—dead before it was ever alive. Oh, this is good news you have brought us, Eddy!”
“The best news that has come to us for months!” said Susy. She had turned her head away and was furtively wiping her eyes. The good news affected the sympathetic Susy almost as deeply as her disappointment had done.