nd that I am not speaking of
genius; I mean marketable literary work. The quantity turned out is
so great that there's no hope for the special attention of the public
unless one can afford to advertise hugely. Take the instance of a
successful all-round man of letters; take Ralph Warbury, whose name
you'll see in the first magazine you happen to open. But perhaps he is a
friend of yours?'

'Oh no!'

'Well, I wasn't going to abuse him. I was only going to ask: Is there
any quality which distinguishes his work from that of twenty struggling
writers one could name? Of course not. He's a clever, prolific man; so
are they. But he began with money and friends; he came from Oxford into
the thick of advertised people; his name was mentioned in print six
times a week before he had written a dozen articles. This kind of thing
will become the rule. Men won't succeed in literature that they may
get into society, but will get into society that they may succeed in
literature.'

'Yes, I know it is true,' said Marian, in a low voice.

'There's a friend of mine who writes novels,' Jasper pursued. 'His
books are not works of genius, but they are glaringly distinct from the
ordinary circulating novel. Well, after one or two attempts, he made
half a success; that is to say, the publishers brought out a second
edition of the book in a few months. There was his opportunity. But he
couldn't use it; he had no friends, because he had no money. A book of
half that merit, if written by a man in the position of Warbury when
he started, would have established the reputation of a lifetime. His
influential friends would have referred to it in leaders, in magazine
articles, in speeches, in sermons. It would have run through numerous
editions, and the author would have had nothing to do but to write
another book and demand his price. But the novel I'm speaking of was
practically forgotten a year after its appearance; it was whelmed
beneath the flood of next season's literature.'

Marian urged a hesitating objection.

'But, under the circumstances, wasn't it in the author's power to make
friends? Was money really indispensable?'

'Why, yes--because he chose to marry. As a bachelor he might possibly
have got into the right circles, though his character would in any case
have made it difficult for him to curry favour.

But as a married man, without means, the situation was hopeless. Once
married you must live up to the standard of the society yo