“Then I will not detain you any longer,” said our young hostess, leading the way at once by a side-door, through a passage filled with flowering plants, into the drawing-room where she had first entertained us—“I hope, Mr Tempest,” she added, smiling at me,—“that now we have met, you will no longer desire to qualify as one of my pigeons! It is scarcely worth while!”
“Miss Clare,” I said, now speaking with unaffected sincerity—“I assure you, on my honour, I am very sorry I wrote that article against you. If I had only known you as you are—”
“Oh, that should make no difference to a critic!” she answered merrily.
“It would have made a great difference to me”—I declared; “You are so unlike the objectionable ‘literary woman,’—” I paused, and she regarded me smilingly with her bright clear candid eyes,—then I added—“I must tell you that Sibyl,—Lady Sibyl Elton—is one of your most ardent admirers.”
“I am very pleased to hear that,”—she said simply—“I am always glad when I succeed in winning somebody’s approval and liking.”
“Does not everyone approve and admire you?” asked Lucio.
“Oh no! By no means! The ‘Saturday’ says I only win the applause of shop-girls!” and she laughed—“Poor old ‘Saturday’!—the writers on its staff are so jealous of any successful author. I told the Prince of Wales what it said the other day, and he was very much amused.”
“You know the Prince?” I asked, in a little surprise.
“Well, it would be more correct to say that he knows me,” she replied—“He has been very amiable in taking some little interest in my books. He knows a good deal about literature too,—much more than people give him credit for. He has been here more than once,—and has seen me feed my [p 238] reviewers—the pigeons, you know! He rather enjoyed the fun I think!”
And this was all the result of the ‘slating’ the press gave to Mavis Clare! Simply that she named her doves after her critics, and fed them in the presence of whatever royal or distinguished visitors she might have (and I afterwards learned she had many) amid, no doubt, much laughter from those who saw the ‘Spectator’-pigeon fighting for grains of corn, or the ‘Saturday Review’ pigeon quarrelling over peas! Evidently no reviewer, spiteful or otherwise, could affect the vivacious nature of such a mischievous elf as she was.