Great Success, A 
 
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Title: A Great Success 
Author: Mrs Humphry Ward 
Release Date: August 25, 2004 [EBook #13288] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GREAT 
SUCCESS *** 
 
Produced by Andrew Templeton, Juliet Sutherland, Maria Khomenko 
and PG Distributed Proofreaders 
 
[Illustration: "Look there, Doris--you see that path? Let's go on to the 
moor a little."] 
A Great Success 
By 
Mrs. Humphry Ward Author of "Eltham House," "Delia Blanchflower," 
etc. 
New York Hearst's International Library Co. 1916 
 
CHAPTER I
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PART I 
 
 
CHAPTER I 
"Arthur,--what did you give the man?" 
"Half a crown, my dear! Now don't make a fuss. I know exactly what 
you're going to say!" 
"_Half a crown!_" said Doris Meadows, in consternation. "The fare 
was one and twopence. Of course he thought you mad. But I'll get it 
back!" 
And she ran to the open window, crying "Hi!" to the driver of a 
taxi-cab, who, having put down his fares, was just on the point of 
starting from the door of the small semi-detached house in a South 
Kensington street, which owned Arthur and Doris Meadows for its 
master and mistress. 
The driver turned at her call. 
"Hi!--Stop! You've been over-paid!" 
The man grinned all over, made her a low bow, and made off as fast as 
he could. 
Arthur Meadows, behind her, went into a fit of laughter, and as his wife, 
discomfited, turned back into the room he threw a triumphant arm 
around her. 
"I had to give him half a crown, dear, or burst. Just look at these 
letters--and you know what a post we had this morning! Now don't 
bother about the taxi! What does it matter? Come and open the post."
Whereupon Doris Meadows felt herself forcibly drawn down to a seat 
on the sofa beside her husband, who threw a bundle of letters upon his 
wife's lap, and then turned eagerly to open others with which his own 
hands were full. 
"H'm!--Two more publishers' letters, asking for the book--don't they 
wish they may get it! But I could have made a far better bargain if I'd 
only waited a fortnight. Just my luck! One--two--four--autograph fiends! 
The last--a lady, of course!--wants a page of the first lecture. Calm! 
Invitations from the Scottish Athenaeum--the Newcastle Academy--the 
Birmingham Literary Guild--the Glasgow Poetic Society--the 'British 
Philosophers'--the Dublin Dilettanti!--Heavens!--how many more! 
None of them offering cash, as far as I can see--only fame--pure and 
undefiled! Hullo!--that's a compliment!--the Parnassians have put me 
on their Council. And last year, I was told, I couldn't even get in as an 
ordinary member. Dash their impudence!... This is really astounding! 
What are yours, darling?" 
And tumbling all his opened letters on the sofa, Arthur Meadows 
rose--in sheer excitement--and confronted his wife, with a flushed 
countenance. He was a tall, broadly built, loose-limbed fellow, with a 
fine shaggy head, whereof various black locks were apt to fall forward 
over his eyes, needing to be constantly thrown back by a picturesque 
action of the hand. The features were large and regular, the complexion 
dark, the eyes a pale blue, under bushy brows. The whole aspect of the 
man, indeed, was not unworthy of the adjective "Olympian," already 
freely applied to it by some of the enthusiastic women students 
attending his now famous lectures. One girl artist learned in classical 
archaeology, and a haunter of the British Museum, had made a charcoal 
study of a well-known archaistic "Diespiter" of the Augustan period, on 
the same sheet with a rapid sketch of Meadows when lecturing; a 
performance which had been much handed about in the lecture-room, 
though always just avoiding--strangely enough--the eyes of the 
lecturer.... The expression of slumbrous power, the mingling of dream 
and energy in the Olympian countenance, had been, in the opinion of 
the majority, extremely well caught. Only Doris Meadows, the 
lecturer's wife, herself an artist, and a much better one than the author
of the drawing, had smiled a little queerly on being allowed a sight of 
it. 
However, she was no less excited by the batch of letters her husband 
had allowed her to open than he by his. Her bundle included, so it 
appeared, letters from several leading politicians: one, discussing in a 
most animated and friendly tone the lecture of the week before, on 
"Lord George Bentinck"; and two others dealing with the first lecture 
of the series, the brilliant pen-portrait of Disraeli, which--partly owing 
to feminine influence behind    
    
		
	
	
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