Chapter XVII: Gladys Hepburn's First Successes

DIARY OF GLADYS HEPBURN.

April 23. Thursday (preceding).

UNCLE TOM was in London on Tuesday, and he very kindly went to see two or three publishers for me. Mr. B. spoke a long time about the great necessity for careful preparation and revision. And Mr. D. also spoke about that. He said he had just refused two manuscripts, written by a lady, for nothing but because they were so carelessly done. If I like at any time to send him a very carefully prepared MS., he will look at it. And Mr. F. told Uncle Tom about some other publishers who might be the right sort.

I begin to understand that it isn't only a question about a story being pretty good in itself, but also one has to be careful where one sends it. Some publishers chiefly bring out novels; and some history; and some religious tales; and so on. And a man might refuse a book just because it didn't suit him, while it might be the very book for another publisher over the way.

Mr. F. also said that the better plan was to send my MSS. straight off, instead of writing first to ask leave. Because, naturally, if a man hasn't seen the MS., and can't possibly judge anything about it, he is more likely to say at once "No" than "Yes."

May 2. Saturday.—My little book is out! It costs one-and-sixpence. Twelve copies have arrived, bound in different colours. The first picture is really pretty, and it is nice to see my own ideas embodied by somebody else.

So at last my wish is granted, and I am very pleased and thankful. Only perhaps not so desperately excited in myself as I expected to be,—not nearly so excited as others are about it, I think. For somehow, now it has come to pass, the thing seems quite natural. And of course I am very much more interested in the story I am actually writing than in one which was finished so long ago.

May 14. Thursday.—Fifteen pounds came yesterday,—the first money I ever earned by my own brains. I have put some into the Savings Bank, and part of it I mean to spend. I hope I shall never get into spendthrift ways.

Several kind letters have reached me about my little book,—and some give advice. I think I liked best of all Mr. Wilmington saying he had nearly cried over it. Aunt Anne Hepburn complains that the colour of her copy is very ugly, and she points out a misprint on the fourth page. But I don't see how one can choose out the prettiest colours for everybody.

The little ones from Glynde House have been here this evening, and we all had a good game of play. It was rather fun to feel that, as I had a printed book out, nobody would count me too childish for my age, and so I could just enjoy myself as much as ever I liked. Was that silly?

I wonder how soon poor Maggie will hear about her MS. She seems getting rather impatient. I don't wonder, for I have often felt dreadfully impatient.

May 16. Saturday.—Mother and I don't think Miss Conway looks quite so strong and bright as when she first came. I wonder if anything is worrying her.

It is so strange that Maggie does not grow more fond of Miss Con. Mother and I think Miss Con delightful. And Ramsay is growing quite absurd. At first he used to say all sorts of hard and contemptuous things about her, as he does about almost everybody; but now he has turned right round, and he seems to think the ground scarcely good enough for her to tread on. But I don't suppose Miss Con has the least idea of his state of admiration, for he only gets red and awkward when he sees her. If she had, how she would laugh! She a girl of twenty-three, with the mind of a woman of thirty, as Uncle Tom says,—and he a backward boy of seventeen.

And yet I don't know whether she really would laugh,—at least it would not be unkindly.

June 17. Wednesday.—Maggie's little MS. has been sent back, as I felt sure it must be, if she wouldn't work it up more carefully. I am very sorry, for she is so disappointed. But the odd thing is, that she seems quite angry, too, with the publisher. I don't understand that, because of course he must be free to take or refuse books. And it always seems to me that one has just to learn what one can do, by trying. One trial doesn't settle the matter; but a good many trials would. And if one really had not the gift, if God really had not called one to the work,—ought one to be vexed?

Still, if I had failed instead of succeeding, I might not find it so easy to write like this.

July 7. Tuesday.—My book "Tom and Mary" is finished at last,—was finished last week, I mean: and I have been correcting hard ever since. I don't mean the MS. to have one single untidy page. Of course that means more copying, but it is worth while. The greatest difficulty is to think of a good title.

It really does seem to me large enough for a five-shilling volume: but I have not said so to anybody, for fear of being mistaken.

We have pretty well settled what publisher to send it to. But I don't feel very hopeful of another success so soon. It seems more than I ought to expect. Not very good accounts of poor Mrs. Romilly. There seems no idea of her coming home yet. Even if she did, I should not see Nellie, for the Romillys all go north in about a fortnight,—as soon as Denham's holidays begin. They did talk of going sooner, but Mr. Romilly couldn't make up his mind to it. I'm sure I don't know what he will do when Denham has gone to school,—only sometimes people bear a thing better when it can't be helped than when it can be helped. Lady Denham is very much taken with Miss Con; and Mother and I are so pleased. Lady Denham says she is "distinguished-looking." I believe Sir Keith admires her too, only he is so cautious and polite that one never can know what he does truly think and feel. I can't make out whether he cares for anybody, really,—more than just as a pleasant acquaintance.

It provokes me, rather; and yet of course I like him,—at least, I suppose so. He is very good, and very handsome, and most people count him perfect. I don't think I do. And the sort of liking that I have wouldn't make me the least unhappy if he went away to-morrow and never came back again. For I should have Mother still—and Nellie,—and my dear writing,—and a great many delightful things besides. And yet Sir Keith is a real friend of ours, and he certainly means to be as kind as possible to everybody all round.

That is just it! I suppose I don't care to be merely one of "everybody all round." And if I don't, it must be pride.

And yet I shouldn't wish him not to be pleasant and polite. And I know he likes Mother,—and I like him for that. And if he didn't always bring on such a shy fit that I can't speak, I might perhaps think him nice to talk to.

There is one other thing that I do like in Sir Keith; and that is, that he doesn't think himself bound to make pretty remarks about my writings, only just to please me. As if I were a child, wanting sugar-plums!

I don't mean that one isn't glad to have an opinion worth having; and honestly-meant praise is pleasant. But that is different. And it seems to me that the people whose opinion one cares for the most are very often the most backward of all in giving it.

July 9. Thursday.—My MS. has gone off. Oh, I do hope and pray that it may succeed!

July 11. Saturday.—Such a kind answer has come from the publisher, Mr. Willis, promising "immediate attention."

July 17. Friday.—I do believe this has been the most delightful day I ever had in my life.

First of all there came a long letter from Nellie, just like her dear self all through.

Then at breakfast-time Mother told me that I am to have a quarter of really good music lessons, from a master just come to live in Glynde. It is two years since I had any. Won't I work hard!

After breakfast, Maggie came in to ask if the children and I would go for a long day's ramble, to the woods. Mother said "Yes" at once, and lessons were left. We took our lunch with us, and had all sorts of fun.

Miss Con and I were together a good deal, and I really do begin to love her dearly. She was so sweet,—thinking about everybody except herself. Maggie kept hanging about Miss Millington, just exactly in the same way she used to hang about Nellie. It provoked me then, because I wanted more of Nellie; and it provokes me now, because I can't endure that little Miss Millington. But anyhow it gave me more of Miss Con.

Thyrza and I got on better than usual; only I can't help seeing that Thyrza does not care for me; and that makes it so difficult to be kind and bright towards her. And the twins were as merry as could be. So we enjoyed ourselves immensely, and we didn't get home till past six o'clock. I haven't had such a holiday for a long while.

But then came the best of all. A letter was waiting for me at home,—from Mr. Willis. And he offers to give me £25 for the copyright of "Tom and Mary," which he thinks will make a 5s. book. And if I agree, it is to go to the printer's at once.

Oh, I am so glad and thankful! It does seem so kind of God to answer prayer like this. I know quite well I didn't half expect it.