Mr. Sullivan Smith walked with Redworth through the park to the House of Commons, discoursing of Rails and his excellent old friend’s rise to the top rung of the ladder and Beanstalk land, so elevated that one had to look up at him with watery eyes, as if one had flung a ball at the meridian sun.  Arrived at famed St. Stephen’s, he sent in his compliments to the noble patriot and accepted an invitation to dinner.

‘And mind you read the princess Egeria,’ said Redworth.

‘Again and again, my friend.  The book is bought.’  Sullivan Smith slapped his breastpocket.

‘There’s a bit of Erin in it.’

‘It sprouts from Erin.’

‘Trumpet it.’

‘Loud as cavalry to the charge!’

Once with the title stamped on his memory, the zealous Irishman might be trusted to become an ambulant advertizer.  Others, personal friends, adherents, courtiers of Redworth’s, were active.  Lady Pennon and Henry Wilmers, in the upper circle; Whitmonby and Westlake, in the literary; spread the fever for this new book.  The chief interpreter of public opinion caught the way of the wind and headed the gale.

Editions of the book did really run like fires in summer furze; and to such an extent that a simple literary performance grew to be respected in Great Britain, as representing Money.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE AUTHORESS

The effect of a great success upon Diana, at her second literary venture, was shown in the transparent sedateness of a letter she wrote to Emma Dunstane, as much as in her immediate and complacent acceptance of the magical change of her fortunes.  She spoke one thing and acted another, but did both with a lofty calm that deceived the admiring friend who clearly saw the authoress behind her mask, and feared lest she should be too confidently trusting to the powers of her pen to support an establishment.

’If the public were a perfect instrument to strike on, I should be tempted to take the wonderful success of my princess at her first appearance for a proof of natural aptitude in composition, and might think myself the genius.  I know it to be as little a Stradivarius as I am a Paganini.  It is an eccentric machine, in tune with me for the moment, because I happen to have hit it in the ringing spot.  The book is a new face appealing to a mirror of the common surface emotions; and the kitchen rather than the dairy offers an analogy for the real value of that “top-skim.”  I have not seen what I consider good in the book once mentioned among the laudatory notices—­except by your dear hand, my Emmy.  Be sure I will stand on guard against the “vaporous generalizations,” and other “tricks” you fear.  Now that you are studying Latin for an occupation—­how good and wise it was of Mr. Redworth to propose it!—­I look upon you with awe as a classic authority and critic.  I wish I had leisure to study with you.  What I do is nothing like so solid and durable.