Part 14 (2/2)
A door opened, and Sefton came in.
”Have you seen the 'Onlooker'?” he said--a journal at the time in much favor with the more educated populace. ”There is a review in it that would amuse you.”
”Of what?” she asked, listlessly.
”I didn't notice the name of the book, but it is a poem, and just your sort, I should say. The article is in the 'Onlooker's' best style.”
”Pray let me see it!” she answered, holding out her hand.
”I will read it to you, if I may.”
She did not object. He sat down a little way from her, and read.
He had not gone far before Walter knew, although its name had not occurred as Sefton read, that the book was his own. The discovery enraged him: how had the reviewer got hold of it when he himself had seen no copy except Lufa's? It was a puzzle he never got at the root of.
Probably some one he had offended had contrived to see as much of it, at the printer's or binder's, as had enabled him to forestall its appearance with the most stinging, mocking, playfully insolent paper that had ever rejoiced the readers of the ”Onlooker.” But he had more to complain of than rudeness, a thing of which I doubt if any reviewer is ever aware. For he soon found that, by the blunder of reviewer or printer, the best of the verses quoted were misquoted, and so rendered worthy of the epithet attached to them. This unpleasant discovery was presently followed by another--that the rudest and most contemptuous personal remark was founded on an ignorant misapprehension of the reviewer's own; while in ridicule of a mere misprint which happened to carry a comic suggestion on the face of it, the reviewer surpa.s.sed himself.
As Sefton read, Lufa laughed often and heartily: the thing was gamesomely, cleverly, almost brilliantly written. Annoyed as he was, Walter did not fail to note, however, that Sefton did not stop to let Lufa laugh, but read quietly on. Suddenly she caught the paper from his hand, for she was as quick as a kitten, saying:
”I must see who the author of the precious book is!”
Her cousin did not interfere, but sat watching her--almost solemnly.
”Ah, I thought so!” she cried, with a shriek of laughter. ”I thought so!
I could hardly be mistaken! What _will_ the poor fellow say to it! It will kill him!” She laughed immoderately. ”I hope it will give him a lesson, however!” she went on. ”It is most amusing to see how much he thinks of his own verses! He wors.h.i.+ps them! And then makes up for the idolatry by handling without mercy those of other people! It was he who so maltreated my poor first! I never saw anything so unfair in my life!”
Sefton said nothing, but looked grim.
”You _should_ see--I will show it you--the gorgeous copy of this same comical stuff he gave me to-day! I am so glad he is going: he won't be able to ask me how I like it, and I sha'n't have to tell a story! I'm sorry for him, though--truly! He is a very nice sort of boy, though _rather_ presuming. I must find out who the writer of that review is, and get mamma to invite him! He is a host in himself! I don't think I ever read anything so clever--or more just!”
”Oh, then, you have read the book?” spoke her cousin at length.
”No; but ain't those extracts enough? Don't they speak for themselves--for their silliness and sentimentality?”
”How would you like of a book of yours judged by sc.r.a.ps chopped off anywhere, Lufa!--or chosen for the look they would have in the humorous frame of the critic's remarks! It is less than fair! I do not feel that I know in the least what sort of book this is. I only know that again and again, having happened to come afterward upon the book itself, I have set down the reviewer as a knave, who for ends of his own did not scruple to make fools of his readers. I am ashamed, Lufa, that you should so accept everything as gospel against a man who believes you his friend!”
Walter's heart had been as water, now it had turned to ice, and with the coldness came strength: he could bear anything except this desert of a woman. The moment Sefton had thus spoken, he rose and came forward--not so much, I imagine, to Sefton's surprise as Lufa's and said,
”Thank you, Mr. Sefton, for undeceiving me. I owe you, Lady Lufa, the debt of a deep distrust hereafter of poetic ladies.”
”They will hardly be annihilated by it, Mr. Colman!” returned Lufa.
”But, indeed, I did not know you were in the room; and perhaps you did not know that in our circle it is counted bad manners to listen!”
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