“He seems to cling to you. Mr. Bousefield says no magazine can afford
you.”
I gave a laugh that agitated the very coachman. “Why, my dear lady, has
he any idea of my price?”
“It isn’t your price--he says you’re dear at any price; you do so much
to sink the ship. Your ‘Remarks’ are called ‘Occasional,’ but nothing
could be more deadly regular: you’re there month after month and you’re
never anywhere else. And you supply no public want.”
“I supply the most delicious irony.”
“So Ray appears to have declared. Mr. Bousefield says that’s not in the
least a public want. No one can make out what you’re talking about and
no one would care if he could. I’m only quoting _him_, mind.”
“Quote, quote--if Limbert holds out. I think I must leave you now,
please: I must rush back to express to him what I feel.”
“I’ll drive you to his door. That isn’t all,” said Mrs. Highmore. And on
the way, when the carriage had turned, she communicated the rest.
“Mr. Bousefield really arrived with an ultimatum: it had the form of
something or other by Minnie Meadows.”
“Minnie Meadows?” I was stupefied.
“The new lady-humourist every one is talking about. It’s the first of
a series of screaming sketches for which poor Ray was to find a place.”
“Is _that_ Mr. Bousefield’s idea of literature?”
“No, but he says it’s the public’s, and you’ve got to take _some_
account of the public. _Aux grands maux les grands remèdes_. They had a
tremendous lot of ground to make up, and no one would make it up like
Minnie. She would be the best concession they could make to human
weakness; she would strike at least this note of showing that it was not
going to be quite all--well, all _you_. Now Ray draws the line at
Minnie; he won’t stoop to Minnie; he declines to touch, to look at
Minnie. When Mr. Bousefield--rather imperiously, I believe--made Minnie
a _sine quâ non_ of his retention of his post he said something rather
violent, told him to go to some unmentionable place and take Minnie with
him. That of course put the fat on the fire. They had really a
considerable scene.”
“So had he with the _Beacon_ man,” I musingly replied. “Poor dear, he
seems born for considerable scenes! It’s on Minnie, then, that they’ve
really split?” Mrs. Highmore exhaled her despair in a sound which I
took for an assent, and when we had rolled a little further I rather
in-consequently and to her visible surprise broke out of my reverie. “It
will never do in the world--he _must_ stoop to Minnie!”
“It’s too late--and what I’ve told you still isn’t all. Mr. Bousefield
raises another objection.”
“What other, pray?”
“Can’t you guess?”