Alicia Terrill did not view the _Brockley Aristocrat_ with unmixed joy.
Even the lines "To A.T. with the homage of R.N." did little to
reconstruct her sentiments in the matter. They ran--
Thou peerless daughter of the age,
So beautiful and fearless;
There soon shall come another stage,
When thou wilt not be Peerless.
She thought them rather impertinent, and it may be said that she did not
like Mr. Nape over much.
Her objection to the _Aristocrat_ was its irritating appearance of
permanency. She was a girl with decided views.
What elusive quality is it that makes for success in a newspaper? Is it
purely a literary one, or a typographical one? Is it the choice of
matter, or the arrangement of type? Perhaps a little of each. What it
was that made the _Brockley Aristocrat_ successful from its very
commencement may have been the individuality that lived in its pages.
The deft touch of genius, the gloss and the brilliance of superlative
merit. In its first number it claimed, modestly enough, to be of its
kind unique.
"The _Brockley Aristocrat_," said the restrained notice, "will contain
all the news worth reading and all the views worth writing: it will be a
newspaper devoted to the best interests of the best people."
Mr. Nape, its nominal editor, rose nobly to his responsibilities. Most
assiduously did he apply himself to the study of all that was most
noteworthy in current journalism. He studied the back-files of the
_Saturday Review_ and acquired the style caustic, he diligently
acquainted himself with the Imperialism of the _Spectator_ and the
_National Review_, and instantly secured the soundest of views on the
Navy. He read from cover to cover the words of Miss Corelli and learnt
all about editors: how bad editors are grossly fat and have pronounced
Hebraic features, and how good editors are pretty scarce. He took
lessons in journalism from a gentleman who guaranteed to turn a dustman
into a reviewer in twelve lessons, and he read the life of Delane.
Little wonder that the _Aristocrat_ came to fame in a short space of
time with such determined strivings after perfection behind it. Little
wonder that people began to read it, and to look forward to Friday (when
it was published) and to take sides in the controversy that raged
between its proprietor and the owner of the _Lewisham and Lee Mail_.
"It isn't that I want them to take sides," said the Duke, "but I want to
get them interested in me. It was the only method I could think of.
You see I'm naturally of a shy and shrinking disposition, and I find it
difficult to convey to comparative strangers a sense of my all-round
excellences."
He was paying one of his rare visits to Alicia in her own home.
The outward and visible result of his hurricane courtship glittered on
the third finger of her left hand.
"But surely," she urged a little impatiently--she was a real girl and
this is a true story--"you have some plans for the future, you do not
intend to end your days in Brockley?"
He nodded his head.
"I can imagine nothing more satisfying," he said, "than to pass to the
dark beyond, to the bourne from which--in the midst of mine own people."
"The calm way in which you have appropriated us all," she said, with a
smile which was half amusement and half vexation, "is too appalling.
But, dear, there is me."
"There is you," he repeated, with a twinkle in his eyes, "I have thought
of that--you shall stay and share my glories."
"In the suburbs?"
She lifted her eyebrows.
"In the suburbs," said the Duke, "we will take some nice house and call
it the Chateau de Montvillier with a nice garden----"
"And a nice coachhouse and hot and cold water," she went on icily, "with
a month at Margate every summer and a round of local pantomimes every
winter--thank you."
"As for myself," said the Duke dreamily, "I shall stand for the Board of
Guardians----"
"What!"
"Board of Guardians," said the Duke firmly, "it has been one of my
life's dreams: in far-away San Pio in my cow punching days, when I used
to lie out on the prairie, all alone, with the great stars glittering
and the unbroken solitude of the wilderness about me, that was the
thought that comforted me; the whispered hope that buoyed me up. To be a
guardian! The trees in their rustling murmured the word, the far-off
howl of the prairie dog was, to my fevered imagination, the voice of the
chairman calling the Board to order."
"But seriously?" she pleaded, "please, please be serious."
"I _am_ serious," said the indignant Duke, "Brockley is nature, and all
that pertains to Brockley is nature. Why even Tuppy sees that! When I
told him that the Mayor didn't wear robes and didn't have a mace bearer,
the poor chap nearly wept for joy, he's staying----"
"I am not interested in what Tuppy thinks," she said coldly, "or what
Tuppy has planned. What interests me is the fact that I have no
intention whatever of spending my life in the suburbs, so there."
I wonder if "so there" an expression that a lady, who had at one time
lived in Portland Place, would use?