“One may love work for the work’s sake without any actual necessity for doing it,”—I interposed—“For example,—this Mavis Clare you speak of,—is she,—a woman,—driven by necessity?”
“Mavis Clare hasn’t a penny in the world that she does not earn,”—said Lord Elton gruffly—“I suppose that if she did not write she would starve.”
Diana Chesney laughed.
“I guess she’s a long way off starvation just now,”—she remarked, her brown eyes twinkling—“Why, she’s as proud as the proudest,—drives in the Park in her victoria and pair with the best in the land, and knows all the ‘swagger’ people. She’s nowhere near Grub Street I should say. I hear she’s a splendid business woman, and more than a match for the publishers all round.”
“Well I should rather doubt that,”—said the Earl with a chuckle. “It needs the devil himself to match the publishers.”
“You are right!”—said Lucio—“In fact I daresay that in the various ‘phases’ or transmigrations of the spirit into differing forms of earthy matter, the devil (should he exist at all) has frequently become a publisher,—and a particularly benevolent publisher too!—by way of diversion.”
We all smiled.
“Well, I should imagine Mavis Clare to be a match for anybody or anything,”—said Lady Sibyl—“Of course she is not rich,—but she spends her money wisely and to effective advantage. I do not know her personally,—I wish I did; but I have read her books, which are quite out of the [p 143] common. She is a most independent creature too; quite indifferent to opinions”—
“I suppose she must be extremely plain then”—I observed; “Plain women always try to do something more or less startling in order to attract the attention denied to their personality.”
“True,—but that would not apply to Miss Clare. She is pretty, and knows how to dress besides.”