As to the grand point, Mr. Flinders told Constance that her tale was
talented and striking, full of great excellence; she might hope for
success equal to Ouida's--but that he had found it quite impossible to
induce a publisher to accept a work by an unknown author, unless she
advanced something. He could guarantee the return, but she must
entrust him with thirty pounds. Poor Constance! it was a fatal blow;
she had not thirty pounds in the world; she doubted if she could raise
the sum, even by her sister's help. Then Mr. Flinders sighed, and
thought that if he represented the circumstances, the firm might be
content with twenty--nay, even fifteen. Constance cheered up a little.
She did think she could make up fifteen, after the 21st, when certain
moneys became due, which she shared with her sister. She would be left
very bare all the spring--but what was that to the return she was
promised? Only Mr. Flinders impressed on her the necessity of secrecy
--even from her sister--since, he said, if he were once known to have
obtained such terms for a young authoress, he should be besieged for
ever!
'But, Uncle Alfred,' said Dolores, 'surely my father and mother, and
all the other people I have known, did not pay to get their things
published.'
'My dear niece, you speak as one who has been with persons of high and
established fame--the literary aristocracy, in fact. The doors once
opened, Miss Hacket will, like them, make her own terms; but such
doors, like many others, are only to be opened by a silver key.
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