to the _Casket, etc_,' beneath your
name on the back of your MSS, Theo. No need to mention that the _et
cetera_ means the _Penny Penman_! And if you intimate to all whom it
may concern that you write anonymously for the _Casket_, you may get
credit for half-a-dozen stories instead of one. I wonder what they will
pay you for it, and how soon it will appear. Won't the Hermit be
impressed? He says it is the only magazine worth reading. Do knock at
the door and tell him, Phil, as you go out for your shopping."

Wily Madge wished to offer a sop to each of the combatants, and had the
satisfaction of seeing Philippa smile faintly, and the complacent
expression return to Theo's face.

"I knew it was a splendid story when I sent it off," said the author
modestly. "Ten pounds at least, I should think, as it is such a
first-class magazine. It took me less than four days, with all the
correction and rewriting. Ten pounds a week; how much is that a year?
If I earned five hundred a year it would make a difference in our
exchequer, wouldn't it, Phil?"

The olive branch was held out with a smile, and as Philippa checked
herself on the verge of remarking that it would be difficult to sell a
story a week, peace was restored once more. The housekeeper went about
her duties, and the author experienced that alternate elation and
depression which follows artistic success. She had created something of
real merit and power; that was a thrilling reflection, but quickly
following came the dreary certainty that virtue had gone out of her, and
she would never be able to do so well again. She hastened to her desk,
hoping to disprove the dread by writing something better still; but,
alas! her heroine sulked persistently, refused to be cajoled into
conversation, and after being dragged through half-a-dozen pages, was
promptly condemned to the flames. It appeared that even when one had
begun to ascend the ladder there was imminent danger of falling off!

Years later, when Theo had made a name for herself as an author of power
and originality, she used to look back on that morning and smile at her
own ignorance in having supposed for a moment that the battle was won.
It was only begun, and it was a battle which had to be waged to the end.
There could be no sitting down and congratulating one's self on
victory; no relaxation of care and study, for each fresh success brought
its onus of responsibility, and made it more imperative for her