Fred M. Simpson

“ I always tell him he might have done so much better than propose to a poor governess without a penny.—Oh, if only his book proves a success!—a really great success!—how glorious it will be!—Why doesn't the wretched publisher make haste and bring it out? ”

“ I know you and I know your landlady, and there is nobody else in the house, except the slavey and the cat; and although the slavey may be a very excellent servant and the cat a most original quadruped, still, I don't want to make elaborate studies of animals—either four-legged or two. One would imagine, from the way you talk, that I did nothing except enjoy myself. I only go out in the evenings.
Lucy.⁠Still you might spare a little time, now and then, to come and see me, if only for half an hour.
Harold.⁠What am I doing now? ”

“ I have never had an opportunity before; it has always been grind, grind, grind, and if I am prevented from going going now, I may never have a chance again. What do you say?
Lucy.⁠But why shouldn't we be married as arranged, and spend our honeymoon over there?
Harold.⁠Because I want to work.
Lucy.⁠And would my being there prevent you? You used to say you always worked so much better when I was⸻
Harold.⁠But you don't understand. This is different. I want to work hard, and no man could do that on his honeymoon—at least I know I couldn't. ”

“ Yes, I am going to be rich some day—rich—in ten years time, if this book gets a fair start and I have anything like decent luck, I shall be the best known author in England.⁠ [Rises.] ⁠The son of the old bookseller who failed will be able then to repay those who helped him when he wanted help, and, more delightful thought still, pay back those with interest who did their best to keep him down, when they could just as easily have helped him to rise. ”

“ Lucy.⁠You are horrid. What an idea!
Harold.⁠No, I don't think that will be your end.⁠ [Puts down the book.] ⁠You are not going to the dustbin, you are going to be a success. No more hack work for me after this. Why, supposing only the first edition is sold, I more than clear expenses, and if it runs to two—ten—twenty editions, I shall receive—the amount fairly takes my breath away. Twentieth thousand; doesn't it sound fine? We shall have our mansion in Grosvenor Square yet, Luce ”

“ Harold.⁠Do you mean to insinuate that I am a snob?
Lucy.⁠Be a little kind.
Harold.⁠Well, it is your own fault, you insinuate that⸻
Lucy.⁠I was wrong. I apologise, but—but— [begins to cry] .
Harold.⁠There, don't make a scene—don't, there's a good girl. There, rest your head here, I suppose I am nasty. I didn't mean it, really. You must make allowances for me. I am worried and bothered. I can't work—at least I can't do work that satisfies me—and altogether I am not quite myself. Late hours are playing the very deuce with my nerves. ”

“ Despite the rare power of his later works, disclosing thoroughly, as they do, his scholarly knowledge, his masterly construction, vivid imagination, and his keen insight into character and details of every-day life, they none of them can, for exquisite freshness and rare delicacy of execution, compare with his first publication, 'Grace: a Sketch.' We have before us, as we write, a first edition of this delightful story, with its curiously sentimental dedication 'To my Lady Luce,' which in the subsequent editions was omitted. ”

“ Harold.⁠There you go again! I deserve them— [laughs harshly] .⁠It is my fault, I suppose, that it is the season; it is my fault that people give dinner-parties and balls; it is my fault, I suppose, that you don't go out as much as I do?
Lucy.⁠Certainly not; although, as a matter of fact, I haven't been out one single evening for the last three—nearly four—months.
Harold.⁠That's right; draw comparisons; say I'm a selfish brute. You'll tell me next that I am tired of you, and⸻
Lucy.⁠Harold! don't, don't—you—you hurt me! Of course I never thought of such a— [she rises] —You are not, are you? ”

“ Lucy.⁠ [Smiling.] ⁠Don't you know how you live yourself?
Agnes. Of course I do, but I was thinking of—of a friend of mine, a governess like myself, who has just got engaged; and I—I was wondering on how much, or, rather, how little, they could live. But you don't know of course. You are rich, and⸻
Lucy.⁠But I wasn't always rich. Thirty years ago when I was your age⸻
Agnes.⁠When you were my age! I like that! why you are not fifty.
Lucy.⁠Little flatterer. Fifty-two last birthday.
Agnes.⁠Fifty-two! Well, you don't look it, at all events. ”

“ Lucy.⁠I have none.
Harold.⁠Then that's settled. Good-bye, Luce; you don't mind very much, do you? The time will soon pass. You are a little brick to behave as you have done.⁠ [Going.] ⁠It will be Monday or Tuesday next for our dinner, but I will let you know. Good bye.
Lucy.⁠Good-bye.
Thirty Years elapse between Scene II. and Scene III.
Scene III—Lucy Rimmerton, Agnes Rimmerton
(her niece)
A well-furnished comfortable room in Lucy Rimmerton's house. ”