‘Thanks very much,’ said Mrs. Lilburne. ‘You are evidently destined to make a name in literature, when you elect to traverse that thorny path. What is to be the title?—for a book it must be within the year! Write while the “impulse” is fresh and unquestioned. Now for a title—_The Yellow Slave_, or _Western Whispers_, by “Winifred.”’
‘You are making me blush,’ said the girl. ‘Who said I ever wrote? If it were any other person I should call it unkind.’
‘My dearest Jean, you are convicting yourself out of your own mouth. I did not say that you _had_ written, but that with your poetic tastes and strong turn for idealising our everyday life, you would be certain to write in the future. Not that I should care for your becoming a “writing woman.”’
‘Now you are disrespectful to authors. Why should I not write? I might give the English cousins a clearer insight into our lives, about which, it seems to me, they are so strangely ignorant.’
‘All in good time, my dear! You were intended by Nature for something much better than to write books for idle people to read. What do you think, Mr. Southwater?’
‘Quite agree with Mrs. Lilburne,’ said the young man, looking upon the lovely _ingénue_ with such manifest admiration that she turned to Lilburne, and playfully besought his aid against her opponents.
‘Miss White is perfectly within her rights in extracting intellectual pleasure from the scant materials which lie around her. She is making the world at large her debtor by doing so. On the other hand, is the game worth the candle? Think of the careworn expression, the harassed nerves, the premature departure of youth—that divine if ephemeral gift. And all for what? For the sake of a book which half the world don’t understand, and the other half dislike.’
‘But think of the pleasure of being successful—really successful! What a glorious privilege! And such a joy while one is writing! I think I should die with ecstasy over a real triumph.’
‘Trust me—believe me, my dear Miss White, I have known writers, successful ones, too, of both sexes, and they were mostly disillusioned, if not disappointed. No, my dear young lady, the kind gods have blessed you with the chief treasures of this mortal life—health, youth, warm friends, and, I might say, the highest endowment of all. Tempt not the jealous goddess.’