Part 37 (1/2)
”How many more will you accept?”
”Two more at the outside, making six in all. The public is like a greedy child, it must be stopped before it makes itself sick.
Nausea leaves a lasting distaste for that which preceded it.”
The Count nodded.
”And this worldly wisdom--is it the editor or the man who speaks?”
”The editor. The editor is a man who lives by saying 'No.'”
”And you will say 'No' to any more from this--writer's pen?”
”To any more about Spain I most certainly shall.”
The Count reflected. What little light the London day afforded fell full upon his long narrow face, upon the pointed Velasquez chin, the receding iron-grey hair brushed straight back.
”And the fact that the writer is supporting herself and a worn-out old uncle by her pen will make no difference?”
John Craik hesitated for a moment.
”Not the least,” he then said. ”You seem to know the writer.”
”I do, and I am interested in her.”
”A lady?” John Craik was dotting his i's with the contemplativeness of artistic finish.
”Essentially so.”
”And poor?”
”Yes, and proud as--”
”A Spaniard,” suggested John Craik.
”If you will. It is a vice which has almost become a virtue in these democratic days.”
John Craik looked up.
”I will do what I can, Lloseta,” he said. ”But she is not a great writer, and will never become one.”
”I know that. Some day she will become a great lady, or I know nothing of them.”
Craik was still busy touching up his ma.n.u.script.
”I have never seen her,” he said. ”But the impression I received from her ma.n.u.scripts is that she is a girl who has lived a simple life among a simple people. She has seen a great deal of nature, out-of-door nature, which is pure, and cannot be too deeply studied.
She has seen very little of human nature, which is not so pure as it might be. That is her chief charm of style, a high-minded purity.
She does not describe the gutter and think she is writing of the street. By the way, I am expecting her here” (he paused, and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece) ”in exactly two minutes.”
The Count rose quickly and took his hat. As he extended his hand to say ”Good-bye” there was a rap at the door. The discreet youth who told John Craik's falsehoods for him came in and handed his master a slip of paper with a name written thereon.