o ladies; he named the publishers. To men he
said he was at liberty to speak of her only as the most beautiful woman
of her time. His courtiers of both sexes were recommended to read the
new story, THE PRINCESS EGERIA.

Oddly, one great lady of his Court had heard a forthcoming work of this
title spoken of by Percy Dacier, not a man to read silly fiction,
unless there was meaning behind the lines: that is, rich scandal of
the aristocracy, diversified by stinging epigrams to the address of
discernible personages. She talked of THE PRINCESS EGERIA: nay, laid her
finger on the identical Princess. Others followed her. Dozens were soon
flying with the torch: a new work immediately to be published from the
pen of the Duchess of Stars!--And the Princess who lends her title to
the book is a living portrait of the Princess of Highest Eminence, the
Hope of all Civilization.--Orders for copies of THE PRINCESS EGERIA
reached the astonished publishers before the book was advertized.

Speaking to editors, Redworth complimented them with friendly
intimations of the real authorship of the remarkable work appearing. He
used a certain penetrative mildness of tone in saying that 'he hoped
the book would succeed': it deserved to; it was original; but the
originality might tell against it. All would depend upon a favourable
launching of such a book. 'Mrs. Warwick? Mrs. Warwick?' said the most
influential of editors, Mr. Marcus Tonans; 'what! that singularly
handsome woman?.. The Dannisburgh affair?... She's Whitmonby's heroine.
If she writes as cleverly as she talks, her work is worth trumpeting.'
He promised to see that it went into good hands for the review, and a
prompt review--an essential point; none of your long digestions of the
contents.

Diana's indefatigable friend had fair assurances that her book would be
noticed before it dropped dead to the public appetite for novelty. He
was anxious next, notwithstanding his admiration of the originality
of the conception and the cleverness of the writing, lest the Literary
Reviews should fail 'to do it justice': he used the term; for if they
wounded her, they would take the pleasure out of success; and he had
always present to him that picture of the beloved woman kneeling at the
fire-grate at The Crossways, which made the thought of her suffering any
wound his personal anguish, so crucially sweet and saintly had her
image then been stamped on him. He bethought him, in consequence, while