Part 90 (1/2)

At breakfast they discussed the situation.

”I'm afraid the bed's too small,” said Esther, when Debby kindly suggested a continuance of hospitality.

”Perhaps I took up too much room,” said the hostess.

”No, dear; you took up too little. We should have to have a wider bed and, as it is, the bed is almost as big as the room.”

”There's the back garret overhead! It's bigger, and it looks on the back yard just as well. I wouldn't mind moving there,” said Debby, ”though I wouldn't let old Guggenheim know that I value the view of the back yard, or else he'd raise the rent.”

”You forget the _Greeners_ who moved in yesterday.”

”Oh, so I do!” answered Debby with a sigh.

”Strange,” said Esther, musingly, ”that I should have shut myself out of my old home.”

The postman's knuckles rapping at the door interrupted her reflections.

In Royal Street the poor postmen had to mount to each room separately; fortunately, the tenants got few letters. Debby was intensely surprised to get one.

”It isn't for me at all,” she cried, at last, after a protracted examination of the envelope; ”it's for you, care of me.”

”But that's stranger still.” said Esther. ”n.o.body in the world knows my address.”

The mystery was not lessened by the contents. There was simply a blank sheet of paper, and when this was unfolded a half-sovereign rolled out.

The postmark was Houndsditch. After puzzling herself in vain, and examining at length the beautiful copy-book penmans.h.i.+p of the address, Esther gave up the enigma. But it reminded her that it would be advisable to apprise her publishers of her departure from the old address, and to ask them to keep any chance letter till she called. She betook herself to their offices, walking. The day was bright, but Esther walked in gloom, scarcely daring to think of her position. She entered the office, apathetically hopeless. The junior partner welcomed her heartily.

”I suppose you've come about your account,” he said. ”I have been intending to send it you for some months, but we are so busy bringing out new things before the dead summer season comes on.” He consulted his books. ”Perhaps you would rather not be bothered,” he said, ”with a formal statement. I have it all clearly here--the book's doing fairly well--let me write you a cheque at once!”

She murmured a.s.sent, her cheeks blanching, her heart throbbing with excitement and surprise.

”There you are--sixty-two pounds ten,” he said. ”Our profits are just one hundred and twenty-five. If you'll endorse it, I'll send a clerk to the bank round the corner and get it cashed for you at once.”

The pen scrawled an agitated autograph that would not have been accepted at the foot of a cheque, if Esther had had a banking account of her own.

”But I thought you said the book was a failure,” she said.

”So it was,” he answered cheerfully, ”so it was at first. But gradually, as its nature leaked out, the demand increased. I understand from Mudie's that it was greatly asked for by their Jewish clients. You see, when there's a run on a three-volume book, the profits are pretty fair.

I believed in it myself, or I should never have given you such good terms nor printed seven hundred and fifty copies. I shouldn't be surprised if we find ourselves able to bring it out in one-volume form in the autumn. We shall always be happy to consider any further work of yours; something on the same lines, I should recommend.”

The recommendation did not convey any definite meaning to her at the moment. Still in a pleasant haze, she stuffed the twelve five-pound notes and the three gold-pieces into her purse, scribbled a receipt, and departed. Afterwards the recommendation rang mockingly in her ears. She felt herself sterile, written out already. As for writing again on the same lines, she wondered what Raphael would think if he knew of the profits she had reaped by bespattering his people. But there! Raphael was a prig like the rest. It was no use worrying about _his_ opinions.

Affluence had come to her--that was the one important and exhilarating fact. Besides, had not the hypocrites really enjoyed her book? A new wave of emotion swept over her--again she felt strong enough to defy the whole world.

When she got ”home,” Debby said, ”Hannah Jacobs called to see you.”

”Oh, indeed, what did she want?”

”I don't know, but from something she said I believe I can guess who sent the half-sovereign.”

”Not Reb Shemuel?” said Esther, astonished.

”No, _your_ cousin Malka. It seems that she saw Hannah leaving Zachariah Square with you, and so went to her house last night to get your address.”