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.