“Yes, funny!” she repeated—“It was so very angry that it became amusing. My poor ‘Differences’! I am really sorry it put you into such a temper,—temper does exhaust one’s energies so!”
[p 228]
She laughed again and sat down in her former place near me, regarding me with a frankly open and half humorous
gaze which I found I could not meet with any sort of composure. To say I felt foolish, would inadequately express my sense of utter bafflement. This woman with her young unclouded face, sweet voice and evidently happy nature, was not at all the creature I had imagined her to be,—and I struggled to say something,—anything,—that would furnish a reasonable and coherent answer. I caught Lucio’s glance,—one of satirical amusement,—and my thoughts grew more entangled than ever. A distraction however occurred in the behaviour of the dog Tricksy, who suddenly took up a position immediately opposite Lucio, and lifting his nose in air began to howl with a desolate loudness astonishing in so small an animal. His mistress was surprised.
“Tricksy, what is the matter?” she exclaimed, catching him up in her arms where he hid his face shivering and moaning;—then she looked steadily at Lucio—“I never knew him do such a thing before”—she said—“Perhaps you do not like dogs, Prince Rimânez?”
“I am afraid they do not like me!” he replied, deferentially.
“Then pray excuse me a moment!” she murmured, and left the room, to return immediately without her canine favorite. After this I noticed that her blue eyes often rested on Lucio’s handsome countenance with a bewildered and perplexed expression, as if she saw something in his very beauty that she disliked or distrusted. Meanwhile I had recovered a little of my usual self-possession, and I addressed her in a tone which I meant to be kind, but which I knew was somewhat patronizing.
“I am very glad, Miss Clare, that you were not offended at the article you speak of. It was rather strong I admit,—but you know we cannot all be of the same opinion ...”
“Indeed no!” she said quietly and with a slight smile—“Such a state of things would make a very dull world! I assure you I was not and am not in the least offended—the critique was a smart piece of writing, and made not the [p 229] slightest effect on me or on my book. You remember what Shelley wrote of critics? No? You will find the passage in his preface to ‘The Revolt of Islam,’ and it runs thus,—‘I have sought to write as I believe that Homer, Shakespeare, and Milton wrote, with an utter disregard of anonymous censure. I am certain that calumny and misrepresentation, though it may move me to compassion cannot disturb my peace. I shall understand the expressive silence of those sagacious enemies who dare not trust themselves to speak. I shall endeavour to extract from the midst of insult and contempt and maledictions, those admonitions which may tend to correct whatever imperfections such censurers may discern in my appeal to the Public. If certain Critics were as clear-sighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit to be derived from their virulent writings! As it is, I fear I shall be malicious enough to be amused with their paltry tricks and lame invectives. Should the public judge that my composition is worthless, I shall indeed bow before the tribunal from which Milton received his crown of immortality, and shall seek to gather, if I live, strength from that defeat, which may nerve me to some new enterprise of thought which may not be worthless!’”
As she gave the quotation, her eyes darkened and deepened,—her face was lighted up as by some inward illumination,—and I discovered the rich sweetness of the voice which made the name of ‘Mavis’ suit her so well.
“You see I know my Shelley!” she said with a little laugh at her own emotion—“And those words are particularly familiar to me, because I have had them painted up on a panel in my study. Just to remind me, in case I should forget, what the really great geniuses of the world thought of criticism,—because their example is very encouraging and helpful to a humble little worker like myself. I am not a press-favourite—and I never get good reviews,—but—” and she laughed again—“I like my reviewers all the same! If you have finished your tea, will you come and see them?”