Chapter IV

Then came the disappointment of the tragedy. The manager of the Cottenham Repertory Theatre wrote to say that they were compelled to postpone the production of it for a few weeks because their season had been unfortunate and they were eager to replenish their treasury by the production of popular pieces. They all admired John's play very much and were quite certain that it would be a great artistic success, but its tragical nature made it unlikely to be profitable to any of them just at present....

"It's funny how these people keep on talking about _artistic_ success when they think a thing isn't going to be any good," Eleanor said when he had finished reading the letter to her.

"No good!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean, no good!"

"Well ... of course I don't mean that your play isn't any good ... only I begin to feel doubtful about things when I hear the word _artistic_ mentioned."

"They're only postponing the play for a short while until they've got enough money together to keep on. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes. It's reasonable. I'm not saying anything about that ... only it's a disappointment!"

"I'm disappointed myself," he said, ruefully contemplating the letter.

"How much do you think you'll make out of it, John?" Eleanor asked pensively.

"Make? Oh, I don't know. About a hundred pounds or so on the first performances ... and then there's the London season ... and of course if the play's a great success, we shall make our fortune. But I think we can reckon on a hundred pounds anyhow. I don't want to expect too much. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm getting anxious about money. You see, dear, you haven't earned much since we got married, have you?"

"No, not much. One or two articles in the _Sensation._ But you needn't worry about that. I'll look after the money part. Don't you worry!"

"Perhaps you could get a regular job on the _Evening Herald_ now that Mr. Hinde's in charge of it," she suggested.

Hinde had recently been appointed editor of the _Evening Herald._

"Oh, no, Eleanor, I don't want a journalist's job. I'm a writer ... an artist ... not a reporter. Besides, I shouldn't have time to work at the book I'm doing now. Look at Hinde. He never has time to do anything but journalism. The worst of work like that is that after a time you can't do anything else. You think in paragraphs!..."

"Supposing the play isn't a success ... I mean a financial success?" she asked.

"Well, I'll make money for you some other way. Leave it to me, Eleanor, I'm pretty confident about myself. I feel convinced that the play _and_ the novel will be successful financially as well as artistically. I've always been confident about myself!"

"Yes."

"And I feel quite confident about this. So don't worry your head any more like a good girl!"

The receipt of the proofs and the excitement of correcting them caused Eleanor to forget her anxiety about their finances. John and she sat in front of the fire, she with one batch of galley sheets in her lap, he with another; and he read the story to her, correcting misprints and making alterations as he went along, while she copied the corrections on to her proofs.

"Do you like it?" he asked, eager for her praise.

"Yes," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder, "I do like it. It's ... it's quite good, isn't it?"

He imagined that there was a note of dubiety in her voice, but he did not press her for greater praise, and they finished the correction of the proofs and sent them to Mr. Claude Jannissary as quickly as they could.

"What does it feel like to have written a book?" Eleanor said to him when the proofs had been dispatched.

"Fine," he replied. "I wish my Uncle Matthew were alive. He'd feel very proud of me!"

"I'm proud of you," she said, drawing nearer to him.

"Are you?" he exclaimed, his eyes brightening. He put his arm round her neck and she took hold of his hand. "Do you like me better now, Eleanor, than you did when we were married?"

"Oh, yes, dear, of course I do."

"Do you remember that night on the Embankment when we were both so scared of getting married?"

"Yes. Weren't we silly? I very nearly ran away that night ... only I didn't know where to run to. I was awfully frightened, John. I thought we were both making terrible mistakes!..."

"Well, we haven't regretted it yet, have we?"

"No, not yet. So far our marriage has been successful!"

"I told you it would be all right, didn't I? I knew I could make you happy. You're such a darling ... how could I help loving you?"