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That her story…telling would prove so attractive Ethelberta had not
ventured to expect for a moment； that having once proved attractive
there should be any falling…off until such time had elapsed as would
enable her to harvest some solid fruit was equally a surprise。
Future expectations are often based without hesitation upon one
happy accident； when the only similar condition remaining to
subsequent sets of circumstances is that the same person forms the
centre of them。 Her situation was so peculiar； and so unlike that
of most public people； that there was hardly an argument explaining
this triumphant opening which could be used in forecasting the
close； unless； indeed； more strategy were employed in the conduct of
the campaign than Ethelberta seemed to show at present。
There was no denying that she commanded less attention than at
first： the audience had lessened； and； judging by appearances；
might soon be expected to be decidedly thin。 In excessive lowness
of spirit； Ethelberta translated these signs with the bias that a
lingering echo of her mother's dismal words naturally induced；
reading them as conclusive evidence that her adventure had been
chimerical in its birth。 Yet it was very far less conclusive than
she supposed。 Public interest might without doubt have been renewed
after a due interval； some of the falling…off being only an accident
of the season。 Her novelties had been hailed with pleasure； the
rather that their freshness tickled than that their intrinsic merit
was appreciated； and； like many inexperienced dispensers of a unique
charm； Ethelberta； by bestowing too liberally and too frequently；
was destroying the very element upon which its popularity depended。
Her entertainment had been good in its conception； and partly good
in its execution； yet her success had but little to do with that
goodness。 Indeed； what might be called its badness in a histrionic
sensethat is； her look sometimes of being out of place； the sight
of a beautiful woman on a platform； revealing tender airs of
domesticity which showed her to belong by character to a quiet
drawing…roomhad been primarily an attractive feature。 But alas；
custom was staling this by improving her up to the mark of an utter
impersonator； thereby eradicating the pretty abashments of a poetess
out of her sphere； and more than one well…wisher who observed
Ethelberta from afar feared that it might some day come to be said
of her that she had
'Enfeoffed herself to popularity：
That； being daily swallowed by men's eyes；
They surfeited with honey； and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness； whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much。'
But this in its extremity was not quite yet。
We discover her one day； a little after this time； sitting before a
table strewed with accounts and bills from different tradesmen of
the neighbourhood； which she examined with a pale face； collecting
their totals on a blank sheet。 Picotee came into the room； but
Ethelberta took no notice whatever of her。 The younger sister； who
subsisted on scraps of notice and favour； like a dependent animal；
even if these were only an occasional glance of the eye； could not
help saying at last； 'Berta； how silent you are。 I don't think you
know I am in the room。'
'I did not observe you；' said Ethelberta。 'I am very much engaged：
these bills have to be paid。'
'What； and cannot we pay them？' said Picotee； in vague alarm。
'O yes； I can pay them。 The question is； how long shall I be able
to do it？'
'That is sad； and we are going on so nicely； too。 It is not true
that you have really decided to leave off story…telling now the
people don't crowd to hear it as they did？'
'I think I shall leave off。'
'And begin again next year？'
'That is very doubtful。'
'I'll tell you what you might do；' said Picotee； her face kindling
with a sense of great originality。 'You might travel about to
country towns and tell your story splendidly。'
'A man in my position might perhaps do it with impunity； but I could
not without losing ground in other domains。 A woman may drive to
Mayfair from her house in Exonbury Crescent； and speak from a
platform there； and be supposed to do it as an original way of
amusing herself； but when it comes to starring in the provinces she
establishes herself as a woman of a different breed and habit。 I
wish I were a man！ I would give up this house； advertise it to be
let furnished； and sally forth with confidence。 But I am driven to
think of other ways to manage than that。'
Picotee fell into a conjectural look； but could not guess。
'The way of marriage；' said Ethelberta。 'Otherwise perhaps the
poetess may live to become what Dryden called himself when he got
old and poora rent…charge on Providence。 。 。 。 。 Yes； I must try
that way；' she continued； with a sarcasm towards people out of
hearing。 I must buy a 〃Peerage〃 for one thing； and a 〃Baronetage；〃
and a 〃House of Commons；〃 and a 〃Landed Gentry；〃 and learn what
people are about me。 'I must go to Doctors' Commons and read up
wills of the parents of any likely gudgeons I may know。 I must get
a Herald to invent an escutcheon of my family； and throw a
genealogical tree into the bargain in consideration of my taking a
few second…hand heirlooms of a pawnbroking friend of his。 I must
get up sham ancestors； and find out some notorious name to start my
pedigree from。 It does not matter what his character was； either
villain or martyr will do； provided that he lived five hundred years
ago。 It would be considered far more creditable to make good my
descent from Satan in the age when he went to and fro on the earth
than from a ministering angel under Victoria。'
'But； Berta； you are not going to marry any stranger who may turn
up？' said Picotee； who had creeping sensations of dread when
Ethelberta talked like this。
'I had no such intention。 But； having once put my hand to the
plough； how shall I turn back？'
'You might marry Mr。 Ladywell；' said Picotee； who preferred to look
at things in the concrete。
'Yes； marry him villainously； in cold blood； without a moment to
prepare himself。'
'Ah； you won't！'
'I am not so sure about that。 I have brought mother and the
children to town against her judgment and against my father's； they
gave way to my opinion as to one who from superior education has
larger knowledge of the world than they。 I must prove my promises；
even if Heaven should fall upon me for it； or what a miserable
future will theirs be！ We must not be poor in London。 Poverty in
the country is a sadness； but poverty in town is a horror。 There is
something not without grandeur in the thought of starvation on an
open mountain or in a wide wood； and your bones lying there to
bleach in the pure sun and rain； but a back garret in a rookery； and
the other starvers in the room insisting on keeping the window shut…
…anything to deliver us from that！'
'How gloomy you can be； Berta！ It will never be so dreadful。 Why；
I can take in plain sewing； and you can do translations； and mother
can knit stockings； and so on。 How much longer will this house be