“Your health, my dear! I look towards you! You have done it this time. To be a contributor to the Casket is like being hung on the line in the Academy. Sha’n’t I brag about you at the Slade?”
“It is simply splendid, dear. I do hope they will put your name to it. It will be so disappointing if they don’t,” said Philippa the tactless. She was overflowing with sympathy with Theo in her success, and yet, poor dear! she must needs call attention to the one existing drawback; for the Casket was as conservative as it was high-class—scorned to invite popularity by illustrations or artistic cover, and more often than not left a blank opposite the titles of stories and articles. It was at such moments as these that Theo felt that she could endure with resignation Philippa’s speedy marriage and departure from the home circle. Only five minutes since she had heard the wonderful news, and already a little cloud came floating across the brightness of the sky; for it was little use appearing in the best magazine of the day if no one knew of it but yourself, and an admiring public remained in ignorance of your name.
“How horrid of you to suggest such a thing! You might let me enjoy myself when I can,” she cried irritably. “You are a perfect wet blanket, Philippa—always sitting on us, and depreciating what we do. It is too bad—spoiling my pleasure when I have waited so long.”
“I! I spoil your pleasure—I depreciate you!” Philippa was fairly gasping with surprise and wounded feeling. “When I slave for you all day long! When I take everything off your hands, so that you may give your time to your work! When it is through me you are here at all! You cruel, ungrateful girl, how can you have the heart to speak to me in such a way?”
“I’m sure I don’t want you to slave for me. I am quite capable of doing my own mending, if you refer to that. I should like to take more share in the housekeeping, but you are so jealous if any one interferes.”
“Jealous! Oh, oh! Jealous!” repeated Philippa dramatically. Her eyes were beginning to grow tearful. Theo’s dark brows met in an ominous frown; there were all the signs of a row royal, when Hope came flying to the rescue.
“Girls, girls, be quiet!” she cried, banging her fist on the table in imperative fashion. “You shall not quarrel when we ought to be so happy! This is the best success we have had, and it would be disgraceful to spoil it by quarrelling like babies. You are both to blame, so no apologies are needed, but for goodness’ sake smile and look pleasant.”
“I’m sure I am only too willing. I want to smile if I am allowed,” said Theo gloomily.
“I’m sure I don’t want to quarrel. Perhaps I had better go away and leave you to yourselves, since I am such a wet blanket,” sniffed Philippa into her pocket-handkerchief. Madge gave Hope a warning kick under the table, and began to chatter as unconcernedly as if nothing had occurred.
“You can always write ‘Contributor to the Casket, etc,’ beneath your name on the back of your MSS, Theo. No need to mention that the et cetera means the Penny Penman! And if you intimate to all whom it may concern that you write anonymously for the Casket, you may get credit for half-a-dozen stories instead of one. I wonder what they will pay you for it, and how soon it will appear. Won’t the Hermit be impressed? He says it is the only magazine worth reading. Do knock at the door and tell him, Phil, as you go out for your shopping.”