ccess.
The critics, who already knew something of her literary powers, had with
one consent written long and special articles about "Laurels and
Thorns," hailing it as a veritable triumph. It was original, and
philosophic, and irresistibly pathetic; the style sufficed to mark its
author as one of the few novelists whose literary form was
irreproachable. Perhaps the praise was here and there extravagant, but
it was practically universal. And it was not confined to the critics.
The reading world more than endorsed it. Second and third editions of
the book were called for within a month. Writers of leading articles and
speakers on public platforms began to quote and commend her.

Most remarkable of all, her novel made a conquest of her brother Sydney.
He did not care for novels as a rule, but he read "Laurels and Thorns,"
and was desperately interested in it. Perhaps the phenomenal success
which had crowned it had some effect upon him; and Lady Pynsent wrote
him a nice letter of congratulation, expressing a great desire to know
his "_distinguished_ sister." At all events, the thing was done, and
Lettice must now be definitely accepted as a writer of books. What
chiefly puzzled him was to think where she had learned her wisdom, how
she came to be witty without his knowing it, and whence proceeded that
intimate acquaintance with the human heart of which the critics were
talking. He had not been accustomed to take much account of his sister,
in spite of her knack with the pen; and even now he thought that she
must have been exceedingly lucky.

It will readily be supposed that the breath of scandal which had passed
over Lettice was in no way a drawback to the triumph of her book. The
more she was talked about in connection with that sorry business, the
more her novel came to be in demand at the libraries, and thus she had
some sort of compensation for the gross injustice which had been done to
her. One small-minded critic, sitting down to his task with the
preconceived idea that she was all that Cora Walcott had declared her to
be, and finding in "Laurels and Thorns" the history of a woman who
regarded the essence of virtue as somewhat more important than the
outward semblance, attacked her vehemently for a moral obliquity which
existed in his own vision alone. This review also stimulated the run
upon her book, and carried it into a fourth edition.

Lettice's fortune was made. She had nothing to do for the remainder of
her