‘I meant, what was the literary value of it?’ said his sister, with a smile.
‘Equal to that of the contents of a mouldy nut.’
‘Pretty much what I thought.’
‘Oh, but it answers the purpose,’ urged Dora, ‘and it does no one any harm.’
‘Honest journey-work!’ cried Jasper. ‘There are few men in London capable of such a feat. Many a fellow could write more in quantity, but they couldn’t command my market. It’s rubbish, but rubbish of a very special kind, of fine quality.’
Marian had not yet spoken, save a word or two in reply to Jasper’s greeting; now and then she just glanced at him, but for the most part her eyes were cast down. Now Jasper addressed her.
‘A year ago, Miss Yule, I shouldn’t have believed myself capable of such activity. In fact I wasn’t capable of it then.’
‘You think such work won’t be too great a strain upon you?’ she asked.
‘Oh, this isn’t a specimen day, you know. To-morrow I shall very likely do nothing but finish my West End article, in an easy two or three hours. There’s no knowing; I might perhaps keep up the high pressure if I tried. But then I couldn’t dispose of all the work. Little by little—or perhaps rather quicker than that—I shall extend my scope. For instance, I should like to do two or three leaders a week for one of the big dailies. I can’t attain unto that just yet.’
‘Not political leaders?’