'I have another piece ready to put into rehearsal; it was arranged for six
months ago. I only consented to produce your play because--well, because
there has been such an outcry lately about art.... Tremendous part for me
in the new piece... I'm sure you'll like it.'

The business did improve, but so very slowly that Hubert was afraid Ford
would lose patience and take the play out of the bills. But while the fate
of the play hung in the balance, Hubert's life was being rendered
unbearable by duns. They had found him out, one and all; to escape being
served was an impossibility; and now his table was covered with summonses
to appear at the County Court. This would not matter if the piece once took
the public taste. Then he would be able to pay every one, and have some
time to rest and think. And there seemed every prospect of its catching on.
Discussions regarding the morality of the play had arisen in the
newspapers, and the eternal question whether men and women are happier
married or unmarried had reached its height. Hubert spent the afternoon
addressing letters to the papers, striving to fan the flame of controversy.
Every evening he listened for Rose's footstep on the stairs.--How did the
piece go?--Was there a better house? Money or paper?--Have you seen the
notice in the ----?--First-rate, wasn't it?--That ought to do some
good.--I've heard there was a notice in the ----, but I haven't seen it.
Have you?--No; but So-and-so saw the paper, and said there was nothing in
it. And, do you know, I hear there's going to be a notice in _The Modern
Review_, and that So-and-so is writing it.

Every post brought newspapers; the room was filled with newspapers--all
kinds of newspapers--papers one has never heard of,--French papers, Welsh
papers, North of England papers, Scotch and Irish papers. Hubert read
columns about himself, anecdotes of all kinds,--where he was born, who were
his parents, and what first induced him to attempt writing for the stage;