Mr. Broune's anxiety had been so intense that he had paid half a year's allowance in advance to Mr. Blake out of his own pocket. Indeed, he had paid various sums for Lady Carbury,--so that that unfortunate woman would often tell herself that she was becoming subject to the great editor, almost like a slave. He came to her, three or four times a week, at about nine o'clock in the evening, and gave her instructions as to all that she should do. "I wouldn't write another novel if I were you," he said. This was hard, as the writing of novels was her great ambition, and she had flattered herself that the one novel which she had written was good. Mr. Broune's own critic had declared it to be very good in glowing language. The "Evening Pulpit" had of course abused it,--because it is the nature of the "Evening Pulpit" to abuse. So she had argued with herself, telling herself that the praise was all true, whereas the censure had come from malice. After that article in the "Breakfast Table," it did seem hard that Mr. Broune should tell her to write no more novels. She looked up at him piteously but said nothing. 
said Mr. Broune, whose anxiety had been so intense that he had paid half a year's allowance in advance to Mr. Blake out of his own pocket.
Indeed, he had paid various sums for Lady Carbury; and he came three or four evenings a week, and gave her instructions as to all that she should do.
"I wouldn't write another novel if I were you," he said. This was hard, as she had flattered herself that the one novel which she had written was good. Mr. Broune's own critic had reviewed it in glowing language, although the Evening Pulpit had of course abused it. She looked up at him piteously but said nothing.
