Applications for the coming lecture on “Lord Randolph” were arriving by every post, and those to follow after—­on men just dead, and others still alive—­would probably have to be given in a much larger hall than that at present engaged, so certain was intelligent London that in going to hear Arthur Meadows on the most admired—­or the most detested—­personalities of the day, they at least ran no risk of wishy-washy panegyric, or a dull caution.  Meadows had proved himself daring both in compliment and attack; nothing could be sharper than his thrusts, or more Olympian than his homage.  There were those indeed who talked of “airs” and “mannerisms,” but their faint voices were lost in the general shouting.

“Wonderful!” said Doris, at last, looking up from the last of these epistles.  “I really didn’t know, Arthur, you were such a great man.”

Her eyes rested on him with a fond but rather puzzled expression.

“Well, of course, dear, you’ve always seen the seamy side of me,” said Meadows, with the slightest change of tone and a laugh.  “Perhaps now you’ll believe me when I say that I’m not always lazy when I seem so—­that a man must have time to think, and smoke, and dawdle, if he’s to write anything decent, and can’t always rush at the first job that offers.  When you thought I was idling—­I wasn’t!  I was gathering up impressions.  Then came an attractive piece of work—­one that suited me—­and I rose to it.  There, you see!”

He threw back his Jovian head, with a look at his wife, half combative, half merry.

Doris’s forehead puckered a little.

“Well, thank Heaven that it has turned out well!” she said, with a deep breath.  “Where we should have been if it hadn’t I’m sure I don’t know!  And, as it is—­By the way, Arthur, have you got that packet ready for New York?” Her tone was quick and anxious.

“What, the proofs of ‘Dizzy’?  Oh, goodness, that’ll do any time.  Don’t bother, Doris.  I’m really rather done—­and this post is—­well, upon my word, it’s overwhelming!” And, gathering up the letters, he threw himself with an air of fatigue into a long chair, his hands behind his head.  “Perhaps after tea and a cigarette I shall feel more fit.”

“Arthur!—­you know to-morrow is the last day for catching the New York mail.”

“Well, hang it, if I don’t catch it, they must wait, that’s all!” said Meadows peevishly.  “If they won’t take it, somebody else will.”

“They” represented the editor and publisher of a famous New York magazine, who had agreed by cable to give a large sum for the “Dizzy” lecture, provided it reached them by a certain date.

Doris twisted her lip.

“Arthur, do think of the bills!”

“Darling, don’t be a nuisance!  If I succeed I shall make money.  And if this isn’t a success I don’t know what is.”  He pointed to the letters on his lap, an impatient gesture which dislodged a certain number of them, so that they came rustling to the floor.