GLADYS HEPBURN'S FIRST SUCCESSES.
DIARY OF GLADYS HEPBURN.
April 23. Thursday (preceding).
UNCLE TOM was in London on Tuesday, and he very kindly went to see two
or three publishers for me. Mr. B. spoke a long time about the great
necessity for careful preparation and revision. And Mr. D. also spoke
about that. He said he had just refused two manuscripts, written by a
lady, for nothing but because they were so carelessly done. If I like
at any time to send him a very carefully prepared MS., he will look at
it. And Mr. F. told Uncle Tom about some other publishers who might be
the right sort.
I begin to understand that it isn't only a question about a story being
pretty good in itself, but also one has to be careful where one sends
it. Some publishers chiefly bring out novels; and some history; and
some religious tales; and so on. And a man might refuse a book just
because it didn't suit him, while it might be the very book for another
publisher over the way.
Mr. F. also said that the better plan was to send my MSS. straight off,
instead of writing first to ask leave. Because, naturally, if a man
hasn't seen the MS., and can't possibly judge anything about it, he is
more likely to say at once "No" than "Yes."
May 2. Saturday.—My little book is out! It costs one-and-sixpence.
Twelve copies have arrived, bound in different colours. The first
picture is really pretty, and it is nice to see my own ideas embodied
by somebody else.
So at last my wish is granted, and I am very pleased and thankful. Only
perhaps not so desperately excited in myself as I expected to be,—not
nearly so excited as others are about it, I think. For somehow, now it
has come to pass, the thing seems quite natural. And of course I am
very much more interested in the story I am actually writing than in
one which was finished so long ago.
May 14. Thursday.—Fifteen pounds came yesterday,—the first money I ever
earned by my own brains. I have put some into the Savings Bank, and
part of it I mean to spend. I hope I shall never get into spendthrift
ways.
Several kind letters have reached me about my little book,—and some
give advice. I think I liked best of all Mr. Wilmington saying he had
nearly cried over it. Aunt Anne Hepburn complains that the colour of
her copy is very ugly, and she points out a misprint on the fourth
page. But I don't see how one can choose out the prettiest colours for
everybody.
The little ones from Glynde House have been here this evening, and we
all had a good game of play. It was rather fun to feel that, as I had a
printed book out, nobody would count me too childish for my age, and so
I could just enjoy myself as much as ever I liked. Was that silly?
I wonder how soon poor Maggie will hear about her MS. She seems getting
rather impatient. I don't wonder, for I have often felt dreadfully
impatient.
May 16. Saturday.—Mother and I don't think Miss Conway looks quite
so strong and bright as when she first came. I wonder if anything is
worrying her.
It is so strange that Maggie does not grow more fond of Miss Con.
Mother and I think Miss Con delightful. And Ramsay is growing quite
absurd. At first he used to say all sorts of hard and contemptuous
things about her, as he does about almost everybody; but now he
has turned right round, and he seems to think the ground scarcely
good enough for her to tread on. But I don't suppose Miss Con has
the least idea of his state of admiration, for he only gets red and
awkward when he sees her. If she had, how she would laugh! She a girl
of twenty-three, with the mind of a woman of thirty, as Uncle Tom
says,—and he a backward boy of seventeen.
And yet I don't know whether she really would laugh,—at least it would
not be unkindly.
June 17. Wednesday.—Maggie's little MS. has been sent back, as I felt
sure it must be, if she wouldn't work it up more carefully. I am very
sorry, for she is so disappointed. But the odd thing is, that she seems
quite angry, too, with the publisher. I don't understand that, because
of course he must be free to take or refuse books. And it always seems
to me that one has just to learn what one can do, by trying. One
trial doesn't settle the matter; but a good many trials would. And if
one really had not the gift, if God really had not called one to the
work,—ought one to be vexed?
Still, if I had failed instead of succeeding, I might not find it so
easy to write like this.
July 7. Tuesday.—My book "Tom and Mary" is finished at last,—was
finished last week, I mean: and I have been correcting hard ever since.
I don't mean the MS. to have one single untidy page. Of course that
means more copying, but it is worth while. The greatest difficulty is
to think of a good title.
It really does seem to me large enough for a five-shilling volume: but
I have not said so to anybody, for fear of being mistaken.
We have pretty well settled what publisher to send it to. But I don't
feel very hopeful of another success so soon. It seems more than I
ought to expect. Not very good accounts of poor Mrs. Romilly. There
seems no idea of her coming home yet. Even if she did, I should not see
Nellie, for the Romillys all go north in about a fortnight,—as soon as
Denham's holidays begin. They did talk of going sooner, but Mr. Romilly
couldn't make up his mind to it. I'm sure I don't know what he will
do when Denham has gone to school,—only sometimes people bear a thing
better when it can't be helped than when it can be helped. Lady Denham
is very much taken with Miss Con; and Mother and I are so pleased. Lady
Denham says she is "distinguished-looking." I believe Sir Keith admires
her too, only he is so cautious and polite that one never can know what
he does truly think and feel. I can't make out whether he cares for
anybody, really,—more than just as a pleasant acquaintance.
It provokes me, rather; and yet of course I like him,—at least, I
suppose so. He is very good, and very handsome, and most people count
him perfect. I don't think I do. And the sort of liking that I have
wouldn't make me the least unhappy if he went away to-morrow and never
came back again. For I should have Mother still—and Nellie,—and my
dear writing,—and a great many delightful things besides. And yet Sir
Keith is a real friend of ours, and he certainly means to be as kind as
possible to everybody all round.
That is just it! I suppose I don't care to be merely one of "everybody
all round." And if I don't, it must be pride.
And yet I shouldn't wish him not to be pleasant and polite. And I know
he likes Mother,—and I like him for that. And if he didn't always bring
on such a shy fit that I can't speak, I might perhaps think him nice to
talk to.
There is one other thing that I do like in Sir Keith; and that is,
that he doesn't think himself bound to make pretty remarks about
my writings, only just to please me. As if I were a child, wanting
sugar-plums!
I don't mean that one isn't glad to have an opinion worth having; and
honestly-meant praise is pleasant. But that is different. And it seems
to me that the people whose opinion one cares for the most are very
often the most backward of all in giving it.
July 9. Thursday.—My MS. has gone off. Oh, I do hope and pray that it
may succeed!
July 11. Saturday.—Such a kind answer has come from the publisher, Mr.
Willis, promising "immediate attention."
July 17. Friday.—I do believe this has been the most delightful day I
ever had in my life.
First of all there came a long letter from Nellie, just like her dear
self all through.
Then at breakfast-time Mother told me that I am to have a quarter of
really good music lessons, from a master just come to live in Glynde.
It is two years since I had any. Won't I work hard!
After breakfast, Maggie came in to ask if the children and I would go
for a long day's ramble, to the woods. Mother said "Yes" at once, and
lessons were left. We took our lunch with us, and had all sorts of fun.
Miss Con and I were together a good deal, and I really do begin to love
her dearly. She was so sweet,—thinking about everybody except herself.
Maggie kept hanging about Miss Millington, just exactly in the same way
she used to hang about Nellie. It provoked me then, because I wanted
more of Nellie; and it provokes me now, because I can't endure that
little Miss Millington. But anyhow it gave me more of Miss Con.
Thyrza and I got on better than usual; only I can't help seeing that
Thyrza does not care for me; and that makes it so difficult to be kind
and bright towards her. And the twins were as merry as could be. So
we enjoyed ourselves immensely, and we didn't get home till past six
o'clock. I haven't had such a holiday for a long while.
But then came the best of all. A letter was waiting for me at
home,—from Mr. Willis. And he offers to give me £25 for the copyright
of "Tom and Mary," which he thinks will make a 5s. book. And if I
agree, it is to go to the printer's at once.
Oh, I am so glad and thankful! It does seem so kind of God to answer
prayer like this. I know quite well I didn't half expect it.