'You are so matter-of-fact, dear. The paper is his own, and he thinks, I suppose, that nobody but himself could edit the thing. Leave poor Alec one or two human weaknesses. He may think this, and yet make no allowance for his own shrinking and sensitive nature.'
Certainly Armorel had seen no indications in this poet-painter of the shrinking nature. It was very carefully concealed.
'Of course,' Zoe continued, 'you hardly know him. But his genius you do know. And the business worries that are inseparable from a journal are a serious hindrance to his higher work. Believe me, dear, even if you do not understand why it should be so.'
'I can very well believe it—I only ask why Mr. Feilding alone, among authors and painters, should hamper himself with such worries.'
'Well, dear—there they are. And I have formed a plan—Oh!'—she clasped her hands and opened her eyes wide—'such a plan! The best and the cleverest plan in the world for the best and the cleverest man in the world! But I want your help.'
'What can I do?'
'I will tell you. First of all. You must remember that Alec is the sole proprietor, as well as the editor of this journal—The Muses Nine. It is his property. He created it. But the business management of the paper worries him. My plan, Armorel—my plan'—she spoke and looked most impressive—'will relieve him altogether of the work.'
'Yes—and how do I come into your plan?'
'This way. I have found out, through a person of business, that if he would sell a share—say a quarter, or an eighth—of his paper he would be able to put the business part of it into paid hands—the people who do nothing else. Now, Armorel, we will buy that share—you and I between us will buy it. You shall advance the whole of the money, and I will pay you back half. The price will be nothing to you. That is, it will be a great deal, because the investment will be such a splendid thing, and the returns will be so brilliant. You will increase your income enormously, and you will have the satisfaction'—she paused, because, though she was herself more animated, earnest, and eloquent with voice and eyes, and though she threw so much persuasion into her manner, the tell-tale face of the girl showed no kindling light of response at all—'the satisfaction,' she continued, 'of feeling that such a help to Literature and Art will make us both immortal.'
Armorel made no reply. She was considering the proposition coldly, and it was one of those things which must be considered without enthusiasm.