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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lesson of the Master, by Henry James
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions 
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at 
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Lesson of the Master
+
+
+Author: Henry James
+
+
+
+Release Date: February 28, 2015  [eBook #898]
+[This file was first posted on May 1, 1997]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LESSON OF THE MASTER***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+                          [Picture: Book cover]
+
+
+
+
+
+                              THE LESSON OF
+                                THE MASTER
+
+
+                              BY HENRY JAMES
+
+                      [Picture: Decorative graphic]
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                          LONDON: MARTIN SECKER
+                     NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                     This edition first printed 1915
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+HE had been told the ladies were at church, but this was corrected by
+what he saw from the top of the steps—they descended from a great height
+in two arms, with a circular sweep of the most charming effect—at the
+threshold of the door which, from the long bright gallery, overlooked the
+immense lawn.  Three gentlemen, on the grass, at a distance, sat under
+the great trees, while the fourth figure showed a crimson dress that told
+as a “bit of colour” amid the fresh rich green.  The servant had so far
+accompanied Paul Overt as to introduce him to this view, after asking him
+if he wished first to go to his room.  The young man declined that
+privilege, conscious of no disrepair from so short and easy a journey and
+always liking to take at once a general perceptive possession of a new
+scene.  He stood there a little with his eyes on the group and on the
+admirable picture, the wide grounds of an old country-house near
+London—that only made it better—on a splendid Sunday in June.  “But that
+lady, who’s _she_?” he said to the servant before the man left him.
+
+“I think she’s Mrs. St. George, sir.”
+
+“Mrs. St. George, the wife of the distinguished—”  Then Paul Overt
+checked himself, doubting if a footman would know.
+
+“Yes, sir—probably, sir,” said his guide, who appeared to wish to
+intimate that a person staying at Summersoft would naturally be, if only
+by alliance, distinguished.  His tone, however, made poor Overt himself
+feel for the moment scantly so.
+
+“And the gentlemen?” Overt went on.
+
+“Well, sir, one of them’s General Fancourt.”
+
+“Ah yes, I know; thank you.”  General Fancourt was distinguished, there
+was no doubt of that, for something he had done, or perhaps even hadn’t
+done—the young man couldn’t remember which—some years before in India.
+The servant went away, leaving the glass doors open into the gallery, and
+Paul Overt remained at the head of the wide double staircase, saying to
+himself that the place was sweet and promised a pleasant visit, while he
+leaned on the balustrade of fine old ironwork which, like all the other
+details, was of the same period as the house.  It all went together and
+spoke in one voice—a rich English voice of the early part of the
+eighteenth century.  It might have been church-time on a summer’s day in
+the reign of Queen Anne; the stillness was too perfect to be modern, the
+nearness counted so as distance, and there was something so fresh and
+sound in the originality of the large smooth house, the expanse of
+beautiful brickwork that showed for pink rather than red and that had
+been kept clear of messy creepers by the law under which a woman with a
+rare complexion disdains a veil.  When Paul Overt became aware that the
+people under the trees had noticed him he turned back through the open
+doors into the great gallery which was the pride of the place.  It
+marched across from end to end and seemed—with its bright colours, its
+high panelled windows, its faded flowered chintzes, its
+quickly-recognised portraits and pictures, the blue-and-white china of
+its cabinets and the attenuated festoons and rosettes of its ceiling—a
+cheerful upholstered avenue into the other century.
+
+Our friend was slightly nervous; that went with his character as a
+student of fine prose, went with the artist’s general disposition to
+vibrate; and there was a particular thrill in the idea that Henry St.
+George might be a member of the party.  For the young aspirant he had
+remained a high literary figure, in spite of the lower range of
+production to which he had fallen after his first three great successes,
+the comparative absence of quality in his later work.  There had been
+moments when Paul Overt almost shed tears for this; but now that he was
+near him—he had never met him—he was conscious only of the fine original
+source and of his own immense debt.  After he had taken a turn or two up
+and down the gallery he came out again and descended the steps.  He was
+but slenderly supplied with a certain social boldness—it was really a
+weakness in him—so that, conscious of a want of acquaintance with the
+four persons in the distance, he gave way to motions recommended by their
+not committing him to a positive approach.  There was a fine English
+awkwardness in this—he felt that too as he sauntered vaguely and
+obliquely across the lawn, taking an independent line.  Fortunately there
+was an equally fine English directness in the way one of the gentlemen
+presently rose and made as if to “stalk” him, though with an air of
+conciliation and reassurance.  To this demonstration Paul Overt instantly
+responded, even if the gentleman were not his host.  He was tall,
+straight and elderly and had, like the great house itself, a pink smiling
+face, and into the bargain a white moustache.  Our young man met him
+halfway while he laughed and said: “Er—Lady Watermouth told us you were
+coming; she asked me just to look after you.”  Paul Overt thanked him,
+liking him on the spot, and turned round with him to walk toward the
+others.  “They’ve all gone to church—all except us,” the stranger
+continued as they went; “we’re just sitting here—it’s so jolly.”  Overt
+pronounced it jolly indeed: it was such a lovely place.  He mentioned
+that he was having the charming impression for the first time.
+
+“Ah you’ve not been here before?” said his companion.  “It’s a nice
+little place—not much to _do_, you know”.  Overt wondered what he wanted
+to “do”—he felt that he himself was doing so much.  By the time they came
+to where the others sat he had recognised his initiator for a military
+man and—such was the turn of Overt’s imagination—had found him thus still
+more sympathetic.  He would naturally have a need for action, for deeds
+at variance with the pacific pastoral scene.  He was evidently so
+good-natured, however, that he accepted the inglorious hour for what it
+was worth.  Paul Overt shared it with him and with his companions for the
+next twenty minutes; the latter looked at him and he looked at them
+without knowing much who they were, while the talk went on without much
+telling him even what it meant.  It seemed indeed to mean nothing in
+particular; it wandered, with casual pointless pauses and short
+terrestrial flights, amid names of persons and places—names which, for
+our friend, had no great power of evocation.  It was all sociable and
+slow, as was right and natural of a warm Sunday morning.
+
+His first attention was given to the question, privately considered, of
+whether one of the two younger men would be Henry St. George.  He knew
+many of his distinguished contemporaries by their photographs, but had
+never, as happened, seen a portrait of the great misguided novelist.  One
+of the gentlemen was unimaginable—he was too young; and the other
+scarcely looked clever enough, with such mild undiscriminating eyes.  If
+those eyes were St. George’s the problem, presented by the ill-matched
+parts of his genius would be still more difficult of solution.  Besides,
+the deportment of their proprietor was not, as regards the lady in the
+red dress, such as could be natural, toward the wife of his bosom, even
+to a writer accused by several critics of sacrificing too much to manner.
+Lastly Paul Overt had a vague sense that if the gentleman with the
+expressionless eyes bore the name that had set his heart beating faster
+(he also had contradictory conventional whiskers—the young admirer of the
+celebrity had never in a mental vision seen _his_ face in so vulgar a
+frame) he would have given him a sign of recognition or of friendliness,
+would have heard of him a little, would know something about
+“Ginistrella,” would have an impression of how that fresh fiction had
+caught the eye of real criticism.  Paul Overt had a dread of being
+grossly proud, but even morbid modesty might view the authorship of
+“Ginistrella” as constituting a degree of identity.  His soldierly friend
+became clear enough: he was “Fancourt,” but was also “the General”; and
+he mentioned to the new visitor in the course of a few moments that he
+had but lately returned from twenty years service abroad.
+
+“And now you remain in England?” the young man asked.
+
+“Oh yes; I’ve bought a small house in London.”
+
+“And I hope you like it,” said Overt, looking at Mrs. St. George.
+
+“Well, a little house in Manchester Square—there’s a limit to the
+enthusiasm _that_ inspires.”
+
+“Oh I meant being at home again—being back in Piccadilly.”
+
+“My daughter likes Piccadilly—that’s the main thing.  She’s very fond of
+art and music and literature and all that kind of thing.  She missed it
+in India and she finds it in London, or she hopes she’ll find it.  Mr.
+St. George has promised to help her—he has been awfully kind to her.  She
+has gone to church—she’s fond of that too—but they’ll all be back in a
+quarter of an hour.  You must let me introduce you to her—she’ll be so
+glad to know you.  I dare say she has read every blest word you’ve
+written.”
+
+“I shall be delighted—I haven’t written so very many,” Overt pleaded,
+feeling, and without resentment, that the General at least was vagueness
+itself about that.  But he wondered a little why, expressing this
+friendly disposition, it didn’t occur to the doubtless eminent soldier to
+pronounce the word that would put him in relation with Mrs. St. George.
+If it was a question of introductions Miss Fancourt—apparently as yet
+unmarried—was far away, while the wife of his illustrious confrère was
+almost between them.  This lady struck Paul Overt as altogether pretty,
+with a surprising juvenility and a high smartness of aspect, something
+that—he could scarcely have said why—served for mystification.  St.
+George certainly had every right to a charming wife, but he himself would
+never have imagined the important little woman in the aggressively
+Parisian dress the partner for life, the alter ego, of a man of letters.
+That partner in general, he knew, that second self, was far from
+presenting herself in a single type: observation had taught him that she
+was not inveterately, not necessarily plain.  But he had never before
+seen her look so much as if her prosperity had deeper foundations than an
+ink-spotted study-table littered with proof-sheets.  Mrs. St. George
+might have been the wife of a gentleman who “kept” books rather than
+wrote them, who carried on great affairs in the City and made better
+bargains than those that poets mostly make with publishers.  With this
+she hinted at a success more personal—a success peculiarly stamping the
+age in which society, the world of conversation, is a great drawing-room
+with the City for its antechamber.  Overt numbered her years at first as
+some thirty, and then ended by believing that she might approach her
+fiftieth.  But she somehow in this case juggled away the excess and the
+difference—you only saw them in a rare glimpse, like the rabbit in the
+conjurer’s sleeve.  She was extraordinarily white, and her every element
+and item was pretty; her eyes, her ears, her hair, her voice, her hands,
+her feet—to which her relaxed attitude in her wicker chair gave a great
+publicity—and the numerous ribbons and trinkets with which she was
+bedecked.  She looked as if she had put on her best clothes to go to
+church and then had decided they were too good for that and had stayed at
+home.  She told a story of some length about the shabby way Lady Jane had
+treated the Duchess, as well as an anecdote in relation to a purchase she
+had made in Paris—on her way back from Cannes; made for Lady Egbert, who
+had never refunded the money.  Paul Overt suspected her of a tendency to
+figure great people as larger than life, until he noticed the manner in
+which she handled Lady Egbert, which was so sharply mutinous that it
+reassured him.  He felt he should have understood her better if he might
+have met her eye; but she scarcely so much as glanced at him.  “Ah here
+they come—all the good ones!” she said at last; and Paul Overt admired at
+his distance the return of the church-goers—several persons, in couples
+and threes, advancing in a flicker of sun and shade at the end of a large
+green vista formed by the level grass and the overarching boughs.
+
+“If you mean to imply that _we’re_ bad, I protest,” said one of the
+gentlemen—“after making one’s self agreeable all the morning!”
+
+“Ah if they’ve found you agreeable—!” Mrs. St. George gaily cried.  “But
+if we’re good the others are better.”
+
+“They must be angels then,” said the amused General.
+
+“Your husband was an angel, the way he went off at your bidding,” the
+gentleman who had first spoken declared to Mrs. St. George.
+
+“At my bidding?”
+
+“Didn’t you make him go to church?”
+
+“I never made him do anything in my life but once—when I made him burn up
+a bad book.  That’s all!”  At her “That’s all!” our young friend broke
+into an irrepressible laugh; it lasted only a second, but it drew her
+eyes to him.  His own met them, though not long enough to help him to
+understand her; unless it were a step towards this that he saw on the
+instant how the burnt book—the way she alluded to it!—would have been one
+of her husband’s finest things.
+
+“A bad book?” her interlocutor repeated.
+
+“I didn’t like it.  He went to church because your daughter went,” she
+continued to General Fancourt.  “I think it my duty to call your
+attention to his extraordinary demonstrations to your daughter.”
+
+“Well, if you don’t mind them I don’t,” the General laughed.
+
+“Il s’attache à ses pas.  But I don’t wonder—she’s so charming.”
+
+“I hope she won’t make him burn any books!” Paul Overt ventured to
+exclaim.
+
+“If she’d make him write a few it would be more to the purpose,” said
+Mrs. St. George.  “He has been of a laziness of late—!”
+
+Our young man stared—he was so struck with the lady’s phraseology.  Her
+“Write a few” seemed to him almost as good as her “That’s all.”  Didn’t
+she, as the wife of a rare artist, know what it was to produce one
+perfect work of art?  How in the world did she think they were turned on?
+His private conviction was that, admirably as Henry St. George wrote, he
+had written for the last ten years, and especially for the last five,
+only too much, and there was an instant during which he felt inwardly
+solicited to make this public.  But before he had spoken a diversion was
+effected by the return of the absentees.  They strolled up
+dispersedly—there were eight or ten of them—and the circle under the
+trees rearranged itself as they took their place in it.  They made it
+much larger, so that Paul Overt could feel—he was always feeling that
+sort of thing, as he said to himself—that if the company had already been
+interesting to watch the interest would now become intense.  He shook
+hands with his hostess, who welcomed him without many words, in the
+manner of a woman able to trust him to understand and conscious that so
+pleasant an occasion would in every way speak for itself.  She offered
+him no particular facility for sitting by her, and when they had all
+subsided again he found himself still next General Fancourt, with an
+unknown lady on his other flank.
+
+“That’s my daughter—that one opposite,” the General said to him without
+lose of time.  Overt saw a tall girl, with magnificent red hair, in a
+dress of a pretty grey-green tint and of a limp silken texture, a garment
+that clearly shirked every modern effect.  It had therefore somehow the
+stamp of the latest thing, so that our beholder quickly took her for
+nothing if not contemporaneous.
+
+“She’s very handsome—very handsome,” he repeated while he considered her.
+There was something noble in her head, and she appeared fresh and strong.
+
+Her good father surveyed her with complacency, remarking soon: “She looks
+too hot—that’s her walk.  But she’ll be all right presently.  Then I’ll
+make her come over and speak to you.”
+
+“I should be sorry to give you that trouble.  If you were to take me over
+_there_—!” the young man murmured.
+
+“My dear sir, do you suppose I put myself out that way?  I don’t mean for
+you, but for Marian,” the General added.
+
+“_I_ would put myself out for her soon enough,” Overt replied; after
+which he went on: “Will you be so good as to tell me which of those
+gentlemen is Henry St. George?”
+
+“The fellow talking to my girl.  By Jove, he _is_ making up to
+her—they’re going off for another walk.”
+
+“Ah is that he—really?”  Our friend felt a certain surprise, for the
+personage before him seemed to trouble a vision which had been vague only
+while not confronted with the reality.  As soon as the reality dawned the
+mental image, retiring with a sigh, became substantial enough to suffer a
+slight wrong.  Overt, who had spent a considerable part of his short life
+in foreign lands, made now, but not for the first time, the reflexion
+that whereas in those countries he had almost always recognised the
+artist and the man of letters by his personal “type,” the mould of his
+face, the character of his head, the expression of his figure and even
+the indications of his dress, so in England this identification was as
+little as possible a matter of course, thanks to the greater conformity,
+the habit of sinking the profession instead of advertising it, the
+general diffusion of the air of the gentleman—the gentleman committed to
+no particular set of ideas.  More than once, on returning to his own
+country, he had said to himself about people met in society: “One sees
+them in this place and that, and one even talks with them; but to find
+out what they _do_ one would really have to be a detective.”  In respect
+to several individuals whose work he was the opposite of “drawn
+to”—perhaps he was wrong—he found himself adding “No wonder they conceal
+it—when it’s so bad!”  He noted that oftener than in France and in
+Germany his artist looked like a gentleman—that is like an English
+one—while, certainly outside a few exceptions, his gentlemen didn’t look
+like an artist.  St. George was not one of the exceptions; that
+circumstance he definitely apprehended before the great man had turned
+his back to walk off with Miss Fancourt.  He certainly looked better
+behind than any foreign man of letters—showed for beautifully correct in
+his tall black hat and his superior frock coat.  Somehow, all the same,
+these very garments—he wouldn’t have minded them so much on a
+weekday—were disconcerting to Paul Overt, who forgot for the moment that
+the head of the profession was not a bit better dressed than himself.  He
+had caught a glimpse of a regular face, a fresh colour, a brown moustache
+and a pair of eyes surely never visited by a fine frenzy, and he promised
+himself to study these denotements on the first occasion.  His
+superficial sense was that their owner might have passed for a lucky
+stockbroker—a gentleman driving eastward every morning from a sanitary
+suburb in a smart dog-cart.  That carried out the impression already
+derived from his wife.  Paul’s glance, after a moment, travelled back to
+this lady, and he saw how her own had followed her husband as he moved
+off with Miss Fancourt.  Overt permitted himself to wonder a little if
+she were jealous when another woman took him away.  Then he made out that
+Mrs. St. George wasn’t glaring at the indifferent maiden.  Her eyes
+rested but on her husband, and with unmistakeable serenity.  That was the
+way she wanted him to be—she liked his conventional uniform.  Overt
+longed to hear more about the book she had induced him to destroy.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+AS they all came out from luncheon General Fancourt took hold of him with
+an “I say, I want you to know my girl!” as if the idea had just occurred
+to him and he hadn’t spoken of it before.  With the other hand he
+possessed himself all paternally of the young lady.  “You know all about
+him.  I’ve seen you with his books.  She reads everything—everything!” he
+went on to Paul.  The girl smiled at him and then laughed at her father.
+The General turned away and his daughter spoke—“Isn’t papa delightful?”
+
+“He is indeed, Miss Fancourt.”
+
+“As if I read you because I read ‘everything’!”
+
+“Oh I don’t mean for saying that,” said Paul Overt.  “I liked him from
+the moment he began to be kind to me.  Then he promised me this
+privilege.”
+
+“It isn’t for you he means it—it’s for me.  If you flatter yourself that
+he thinks of anything in life but me you’ll find you’re mistaken.  He
+introduces every one.  He thinks me insatiable.”
+
+“You speak just like him,” laughed our youth.
+
+“Ah but sometimes I want to”—and the girl coloured.  “I don’t read
+everything—I read very little.  But I _have_ read you.”
+
+“Suppose we go into the gallery,” said Paul Overt.  She pleased him
+greatly, not so much because of this last remark—though that of course
+was not too disconcerting—as because, seated opposite to him at luncheon,
+she had given him for half an hour the impression of her beautiful face.
+Something else had come with it—a sense of generosity, of an enthusiasm
+which, unlike many enthusiasms, was not all manner.  That was not spoiled
+for him by his seeing that the repast had placed her again in familiar
+contact with Henry St. George.  Sitting next her this celebrity was also
+opposite our young man, who had been able to note that he multiplied the
+attentions lately brought by his wife to the General’s notice.  Paul
+Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not in the least
+discomposed by these fond excesses and that she gave every sign of an
+unclouded spirit.  She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on the
+other the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new high-class lively
+evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt in circles
+increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made amusing, and
+unconvinced when assured by those of another political colour that it was
+already amusing enough.  At the end of an hour spent in her company Paul
+Overt thought her still prettier than at the first radiation, and if her
+profane allusions to her husband’s work had not still rung in his ears he
+should have liked her—so far as it could be a question of that in
+connexion with a woman to whom he had not yet spoken and to whom probably
+he should never speak if it were left to her.  Pretty women were a clear
+need to this genius, and for the hour it was Miss Fancourt who supplied
+the want.  If Overt had promised himself a closer view the occasion was
+now of the best, and it brought consequences felt by the young man as
+important.  He saw more in St. George’s face, which he liked the better
+for its not having told its whole story in the first three minutes.  That
+story came out as one read, in short instalments—it was excusable that
+one’s analogies should be somewhat professional—and the text was a style
+considerably involved, a language not easy to translate at sight.  There
+were shades of meaning in it and a vague perspective of history which
+receded as you advanced.  Two facts Paul had particularly heeded.  The
+first of these was that he liked the measured mask much better at
+inscrutable rest than in social agitation; its almost convulsive smile
+above all displeased him (as much as any impression from that source
+could), whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in proportion as
+stillness settled again.  The change to the expression of gaiety excited,
+he made out, very much the private protest of a person sitting gratefully
+in the twilight when the lamp is brought in too soon.  His second
+reflexion was that, though generally averse to the flagrant use of
+ingratiating arts by a man of age “making up” to a pretty girl, he was
+not in this case too painfully affected: which seemed to prove either
+that St. George had a light hand or the air of being younger than he was,
+or else that Miss Fancourt’s own manner somehow made everything right.
+
+Overt walked with her into the gallery, and they strolled to the end of
+it, looking at the pictures, the cabinets, the charming vista, which
+harmonised with the prospect of the summer afternoon, resembling it by a
+long brightness, with great divans and old chairs that figured hours of
+rest.  Such a place as that had the added merit of giving those who came
+into it plenty to talk about.  Miss Fancourt sat down with her new
+acquaintance on a flowered sofa, the cushions of which, very numerous,
+were tight ancient cubes of many sizes, and presently said: “I’m so glad
+to have a chance to thank you.”
+
+“To thank me—?”  He had to wonder.
+
+“I liked your book so much.  I think it splendid.”
+
+She sat there smiling at him, and he never asked himself which book she
+meant; for after all he had written three or four.  That seemed a vulgar
+detail, and he wasn’t even gratified by the idea of the pleasure she told
+him—her handsome bright face told him—he had given her.  The feeling she
+appealed to, or at any rate the feeling she excited, was something
+larger, something that had little to do with any quickened pulsation of
+his own vanity.  It was responsive admiration of the life she embodied,
+the young purity and richness of which appeared to imply that real
+success was to resemble _that_, to live, to bloom, to present the
+perfection of a fine type, not to have hammered out headachy fancies with
+a bent back at an ink-stained table.  While her grey eyes rested on
+him—there was a wideish space between these, and the division of her
+rich-coloured hair, so thick that it ventured to be smooth, made a free
+arch above them—he was almost ashamed of that exercise of the pen which
+it was her present inclination to commend.  He was conscious he should
+have liked better to please her in some other way.  The lines of her face
+were those of a woman grown, but the child lingered on in her complexion
+and in the sweetness of her mouth.  Above all she was natural—that was
+indubitable now; more natural than he had supposed at first, perhaps on
+account of her æsthetic toggery, which was conventionally unconventional,
+suggesting what he might have called a tortuous spontaneity.  He had
+feared that sort of thing in other cases, and his fears had been
+justified; for, though he was an artist to the essence, the modern
+reactionary nymph, with the brambles of the woodland caught in her folds
+and a look as if the satyrs had toyed with her hair, made him shrink not
+as a man of starch and patent leather, but as a man potentially himself a
+poet or even a faun.  The girl was really more candid than her costume,
+and the best proof of it was her supposing her liberal character suited
+by any uniform.  This was a fallacy, since if she was draped as a
+pessimist he was sure she liked the taste of life.  He thanked her for
+her appreciation—aware at the same time that he didn’t appear to thank
+her enough and that she might think him ungracious.  He was afraid she
+would ask him to explain something he had written, and he always winced
+at that—perhaps too timidly—for to his own ear the explanation of a work
+of art sounded fatuous.  But he liked her so much as to feel a confidence
+that in the long run he should be able to show her he wasn’t rudely
+evasive.  Moreover she surely wasn’t quick to take offence, wasn’t
+irritable; she could be trusted to wait.  So when he said to her, “Ah
+don’t talk of anything I’ve done, don’t talk of it _here_; there’s
+another man in the house who’s the actuality!”—when he uttered this short
+sincere protest it was with the sense that she would see in the words
+neither mock humility nor the impatience of a successful man bored with
+praise.
+
+“You mean Mr. St. George—isn’t he delightful?”
+
+Paul Overt met her eyes, which had a cool morning-light that would have
+half-broken his heart if he hadn’t been so young.  “Alas I don’t know
+him.  I only admire him at a distance.”
+
+“Oh you must know him—he wants so to talk to you,” returned Miss
+Fancourt, who evidently had the habit of saying the things that, by her
+quick calculation, would give people pleasure.  Paul saw how she would
+always calculate on everything’s being simple between others.
+
+“I shouldn’t have supposed he knew anything about me,” he professed.
+
+“He does then—everything.  And if he didn’t I should be able to tell
+him.”
+
+“To tell him everything?” our friend smiled.
+
+“You talk just like the people in your book!” she answered.
+
+“Then they must all talk alike.”
+
+She thought a moment, not a bit disconcerted.  “Well, it must be so
+difficult.  Mr. St. George tells me it _is_—terribly.  I’ve tried too—and
+I find it so.  I’ve tried to write a novel.”
+
+“Mr. St. George oughtn’t to discourage you,” Paul went so far as to say.
+
+“You do much more—when you wear that expression.”
+
+“Well, after all, why try to be an artist?” the young man pursued.  “It’s
+so poor—so poor!”
+
+“I don’t know what you mean,” said Miss Fancourt, who looked grave.
+
+“I mean as compared with being a person of action—as living your works.”
+
+“But what’s art but an intense life—if it be real?” she asked.  “I think
+it’s the only one—everything else is so clumsy!”  Her companion laughed,
+and she brought out with her charming serenity what next struck her.
+“It’s so interesting to meet so many celebrated people.”
+
+“So I should think—but surely it isn’t new to you.”
+
+“Why I’ve never seen any one—any one: living always in Asia.”
+
+The way she talked of Asia somehow enchanted him.  “But doesn’t that
+continent swarm with great figures?  Haven’t you administered provinces
+in India and had captive rajahs and tributary princes chained to your
+car?”
+
+It was as if she didn’t care even _should_ he amuse himself at her cost.
+“I was with my father, after I left school to go out there.  It was
+delightful being with him—we’re alone together in the world, he and I—but
+there was none of the society I like best.  One never heard of a
+picture—never of a book, except bad ones.”
+
+“Never of a picture?  Why, wasn’t all life a picture?”
+
+She looked over the delightful place where they sat.  “Nothing to compare
+to this.  I adore England!” she cried.
+
+It fairly stirred in him the sacred chord.  “Ah of course I don’t deny
+that we must do something with her, poor old dear, yet.”
+
+“She hasn’t been touched, really,” said the girl.
+
+“Did Mr. St. George say that?”
+
+There was a small and, as he felt, harmless spark of irony in his
+question; which, however, she answered very simply, not noticing the
+insinuation.  “Yes, he says England hasn’t been touched—not considering
+all there is,” she went on eagerly.  “He’s so interesting about our
+country.  To listen to him makes one want so to do something.”
+
+“It would make _me_ want to,” said Paul Overt, feeling strongly, on the
+instant, the suggestion of what she said and that of the emotion with
+which she said it, and well aware of what an incentive, on St. George’s
+lips, such a speech might be.
+
+“Oh you—as if you hadn’t!  I should like so to hear you talk together,”
+she added ardently.
+
+“That’s very genial of you; but he’d have it all his own way.  I’m
+prostrate before him.”
+
+She had an air of earnestness.  “Do you think then he’s so perfect?”
+
+“Far from it.  Some of his later books seem to me of a queerness—!”
+
+“Yes, yes—he knows that.”
+
+Paul Overt stared.  “That they seem to me of a queerness—!”
+
+“Well yes, or at any rate that they’re not what they should be.  He told
+me he didn’t esteem them.  He has told me such wonderful things—he’s so
+interesting.”
+
+There was a certain shock for Paul Overt in the knowledge that the fine
+genius they were talking of had been reduced to so explicit a confession
+and had made it, in his misery, to the first comer; for though Miss
+Fancourt was charming what was she after all but an immature girl
+encountered at a country-house?  Yet precisely this was part of the
+sentiment he himself had just expressed: he would make way completely for
+the poor peccable great man not because he didn’t read him clear, but
+altogether because he did.  His consideration was half composed of
+tenderness for superficialities which he was sure their perpetrator
+judged privately, judged more ferociously than any one, and which
+represented some tragic intellectual secret.  He would have his reasons
+for his psychology à fleur de peau, and these reasons could only be cruel
+ones, such as would make him dearer to those who already were fond of
+him.  “You excite my envy.  I have my reserves, I discriminate—but I love
+him,” Paul said in a moment.  “And seeing him for the first time this way
+is a great event for me.”
+
+“How momentous—how magnificent!” cried the girl.  “How delicious to bring
+you together!”
+
+“Your doing it—that makes it perfect,” our friend returned.
+
+“He’s as eager as you,” she went on.  “But it’s so odd you shouldn’t have
+met.”
+
+“It’s not really so odd as it strikes you.  I’ve been out of England so
+much—made repeated absences all these last years.”
+
+She took this in with interest.  “And yet you write of it as well as if
+you were always here.”
+
+“It’s just the being away perhaps.  At any rate the best bits, I suspect,
+are those that were done in dreary places abroad.”
+
+“And why were they dreary?”
+
+“Because they were health-resorts—where my poor mother was dying.”
+
+“Your poor mother?”—she was all sweet wonder.
+
+“We went from place to place to help her to get better.  But she never
+did.  To the deadly Riviera (I hate it!) to the high Alps, to Algiers,
+and far away—a hideous journey—to Colorado.”
+
+“And she isn’t better?” Miss Fancourt went on.
+
+“She died a year ago.”
+
+“Really?—like mine!  Only that’s years since.  Some day you must tell me
+about your mother,” she added.
+
+He could at first, on this, only gaze at her.  “What right things you
+say!  If you say them to St. George I don’t wonder he’s in bondage.”
+
+It pulled her up for a moment.  “I don’t know what you mean.  He doesn’t
+make speeches and professions at all—he isn’t ridiculous.”
+
+“I’m afraid you consider then that I am.”
+
+“No, I don’t”—she spoke it rather shortly.  And then she added: “He
+understands—understands everything.”
+
+The young man was on the point of saying jocosely: “And I don’t—is that
+it?”  But these words, in time, changed themselves to others slightly
+less trivial: “Do you suppose he understands his wife?”
+
+Miss Fancourt made no direct answer, but after a moment’s hesitation put
+it: “Isn’t she charming?”
+
+“Not in the least!”
+
+“Here he comes.  Now you must know him,” she went on.  A small group of
+visitors had gathered at the other end of the gallery and had been there
+overtaken by Henry St. George, who strolled in from a neighbouring room.
+He stood near them a moment, not falling into the talk but taking up an
+old miniature from a table and vaguely regarding it.  At the end of a
+minute he became aware of Miss Fancourt and her companion in the
+distance; whereupon, laying down his miniature, he approached them with
+the same procrastinating air, his hands in his pockets and his eyes
+turned, right and left, to the pictures.  The gallery was so long that
+this transit took some little time, especially as there was a moment when
+he stopped to admire the fine Gainsborough.  “He says Mrs. St. George has
+been the making of him,” the girl continued in a voice slightly lowered.
+
+“Ah he’s often obscure!” Paul laughed.
+
+“Obscure?” she repeated as if she heard it for the first time.  Her eyes
+rested on her other friend, and it wasn’t lost upon Paul that they
+appeared to send out great shafts of softness.  “He’s going to speak to
+us!” she fondly breathed.  There was a sort of rapture in her voice, and
+our friend was startled.  “Bless my soul, does she care for him like
+_that_?—is she in love with him?” he mentally enquired.  “Didn’t I tell
+you he was eager?” she had meanwhile asked of him.
+
+“It’s eagerness dissimulated,” the young man returned as the subject of
+their observation lingered before his Gainsborough.  “He edges toward us
+shyly.  Does he mean that she saved him by burning that book?”
+
+“That book? what book did she burn?”  The girl quickly turned her face to
+him.
+
+“Hasn’t he told you then?”
+
+“Not a word.”
+
+“Then he doesn’t tell you everything!”  Paul had guessed that she pretty
+much supposed he did.  The great man had now resumed his course and come
+nearer; in spite of which his more qualified admirer risked a profane
+observation: “St. George and the Dragon is what the anecdote suggests!”
+
+His companion, however, didn’t hear it; she smiled at the dragon’s
+adversary.  “He _is_ eager—he is!” she insisted.
+
+“Eager for you—yes.”
+
+But meanwhile she had called out: “I’m sure you want to know Mr. Overt.
+You’ll be great friends, and it will always be delightful to me to
+remember I was here when you first met and that I had something to do
+with it.”
+
+There was a freshness of intention in the words that carried them off;
+nevertheless our young man was sorry for Henry St. George, as he was
+sorry at any time for any person publicly invited to be responsive and
+delightful.  He would have been so touched to believe that a man he
+deeply admired should care a straw for him that he wouldn’t play with
+such a presumption if it were possibly vain.  In a single glance of the
+eye of the pardonable Master he read—having the sort of divination that
+belonged to his talent—that this personage had ever a store of friendly
+patience, which was part of his rich outfit, but was versed in no printed
+page of a rising scribbler.  There was even a relief, a simplification,
+in that: liking him so much already for what he had done, how could one
+have liked him any more for a perception which must at the best have been
+vague?  Paul Overt got up, trying to show his compassion, but at the same
+instant he found himself encompassed by St. George’s happy personal art—a
+manner of which it was the essence to conjure away false positions.  It
+all took place in a moment.  Paul was conscious that he knew him now,
+conscious of his handshake and of the very quality of his hand; of his
+face, seen nearer and consequently seen better, of a general fraternising
+assurance, and in particular of the circumstance that St. George didn’t
+dislike him (as yet at least) for being imposed by a charming but too
+gushing girl, attractive enough without such danglers.  No irritation at
+any rate was reflected in the voice with which he questioned Miss
+Fancourt as to some project of a walk—a general walk of the company round
+the park.  He had soon said something to Paul about a talk—“We must have
+a tremendous lot of talk; there are so many things, aren’t there?”—but
+our friend could see this idea wouldn’t in the present case take very
+immediate effect.  All the same he was extremely happy, even after the
+matter of the walk had been settled—the three presently passed back to
+the other part of the gallery, where it was discussed with several
+members of the party; even when, after they had all gone out together, he
+found himself for half an hour conjoined with Mrs. St. George.  Her
+husband had taken the advance with Miss Fancourt, and this pair were
+quite out of sight.  It was the prettiest of rambles for a summer
+afternoon—a grassy circuit, of immense extent, skirting the limit of the
+park within.  The park was completely surrounded by its old mottled but
+perfect red wall, which, all the way on their left, constituted in itself
+an object of interest.  Mrs. St. George mentioned to him the surprising
+number of acres thus enclosed, together with numerous other facts
+relating to the property and the family, and the family’s other
+properties: she couldn’t too strongly urge on him the importance of
+seeing their other houses.  She ran over the names of these and rang the
+changes on them with the facility of practice, making them appear an
+almost endless list.  She had received Paul Overt very amiably on his
+breaking ground with her by the mention of his joy in having just made
+her husband’s acquaintance, and struck him as so alert and so
+accommodating a little woman that he was rather ashamed of his _mot_
+about her to Miss Fancourt; though he reflected that a hundred other
+people, on a hundred occasions, would have been sure to make it.  He got
+on with Ms. St. George, in short, better than he expected; but this
+didn’t prevent her suddenly becoming aware that she was faint with
+fatigue and must take her way back to the house by the shortest cut.  She
+professed that she hadn’t the strength of a kitten and was a miserable
+wreck; a character he had been too preoccupied to discern in her while he
+wondered in what sense she could be held to have been the making of her
+husband.  He had arrived at a glimmering of the answer when she announced
+that she must leave him, though this perception was of course
+provisional.  While he was in the very act of placing himself at her
+disposal for the return the situation underwent a change; Lord Masham had
+suddenly turned up, coming back to them, overtaking them, emerging from
+the shrubbery—Overt could scarcely have said how he appeared—and Mrs. St.
+George had protested that she wanted to be left alone and not to break up
+the party.  A moment later she was walking off with Lord Masham.  Our
+friend fell back and joined Lady Watermouth, to whom he presently
+mentioned that Mrs. St. George had been obliged to renounce the attempt
+to go further.
+
+“She oughtn’t to have come out at all,” her ladyship rather grumpily
+remarked.
+
+“Is she so very much of an invalid?”
+
+“Very bad indeed.”  And his hostess added with still greater austerity:
+“She oughtn’t really to come to one!”  He wondered what was implied by
+this, and presently gathered that it was not a reflexion on the lady’s
+conduct or her moral nature: it only represented that her strength was
+not equal to her aspirations.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+THE smoking-room at Summersoft was on the scale of the rest of the place;
+high light commodious and decorated with such refined old carvings and
+mouldings that it seemed rather a bower for ladies who should sit at work
+at fading crewels than a parliament of gentlemen smoking strong cigars.
+The gentlemen mustered there in considerable force on the Sunday evening,
+collecting mainly at one end, in front of one of the cool fair fireplaces
+of white marble, the entablature of which was adorned with a delicate
+little Italian “subject.”  There was another in the wall that faced it,
+and, thanks to the mild summer night, a fire in neither; but a nucleus
+for aggregation was furnished on one side by a table in the
+chimney-corner laden with bottles, decanters and tall tumblers.  Paul
+Overt was a faithless smoker; he would puff a cigarette for reasons with
+which tobacco had nothing to do.  This was particularly the case on the
+occasion of which I speak; his motive was the vision of a little direct
+talk with Henry St. George.  The “tremendous” communion of which the
+great man had held out hopes to him earlier in the day had not yet come
+off, and this saddened him considerably, for the party was to go its
+several ways immediately after breakfast on the morrow.  He had, however,
+the disappointment of finding that apparently the author of “Shadowmere”
+was not disposed to prolong his vigil.  He wasn’t among the gentlemen
+assembled when Paul entered, nor was he one of those who turned up, in
+bright habiliments, during the next ten minutes.  The young man waited a
+little, wondering if he had only gone to put on something extraordinary;
+this would account for his delay as well as contribute further to Overt’s
+impression of his tendency to do the approved superficial thing.  But he
+didn’t arrive—he must have been putting on something more extraordinary
+than was probable.  Our hero gave him up, feeling a little injured, a
+little wounded, at this loss of twenty coveted words.  He wasn’t angry,
+but he puffed his cigarette sighingly, with the sense of something rare
+possibly missed.  He wandered away with his regret and moved slowly round
+the room, looking at the old prints on the walls.  In this attitude he
+presently felt a hand on his shoulder and a friendly voice in his ear
+“This is good.  I hoped I should find you.  I came down on purpose.”  St.
+George was there without a change of dress and with a fine face—his
+graver one—to which our young man all in a flutter responded.  He
+explained that it was only for the Master—the idea of a little talk—that
+he had sat up, and that, not finding him, he had been on the point of
+going to bed.
+
+“Well, you know, I don’t smoke—my wife doesn’t let me,” said St. George,
+looking for a place to sit down.  “It’s very good for me—very good for
+me.  Let us take that sofa.”
+
+“Do you mean smoking’s good for you?”
+
+“No no—her not letting me.  It’s a great thing to have a wife who’s so
+sure of all the things one can do without.  One might never find them out
+one’s self.  She doesn’t allow me to touch a cigarette.”  They took
+possession of a sofa at a distance from the group of smokers, and St.
+George went on: “Have you got one yourself?”
+
+“Do you mean a cigarette?”
+
+“Dear no—a wife.”
+
+“No; and yet I’d give up my cigarette for one.”
+
+“You’d give up a good deal more than that,” St. George returned.
+“However, you’d get a great deal in return.  There’s a something to be
+said for wives,” he added, folding his arms and crossing his outstretched
+legs.  He declined tobacco altogether and sat there without returning
+fire.  His companion stopped smoking, touched by his courtesy; and after
+all they were out of the fumes, their sofa was in a far-away corner.  It
+would have been a mistake, St. George went on, a great mistake for them
+to have separated without a little chat; “for I know all about you,” he
+said, “I know you’re very remarkable.  You’ve written a very
+distinguished book.”
+
+“And how do you know it?” Paul asked.
+
+“Why, my dear fellow, it’s in the air, it’s in the papers, it’s
+everywhere.”  St. George spoke with the immediate familiarity of a
+confrère—a tone that seemed to his neighbour the very rustle of the
+laurel.  “You’re on all men’s lips and, what’s better, on all women’s.
+And I’ve just been reading your book.”
+
+“Just?  You hadn’t read it this afternoon,” said Overt.
+
+“How do you know that?”
+
+“I think you should know how I know it,” the young man laughed.
+
+“I suppose Miss Fancourt told you.”
+
+“No indeed—she led me rather to suppose you had.”
+
+“Yes—that’s much more what she’d do.  Doesn’t she shed a rosy glow over
+life?  But you didn’t believe her?” asked St. George.
+
+“No, not when you came to us there.”
+
+“Did I pretend? did I pretend badly?”  But without waiting for an answer
+to this St. George went on: “You ought always to believe such a girl as
+that—always, always.  Some women are meant to be taken with allowances
+and reserves; but you must take _her_ just as she is.”
+
+“I like her very much,” said Paul Overt.
+
+Something in his tone appeared to excite on his companion’s part a
+momentary sense of the absurd; perhaps it was the air of deliberation
+attending this judgement.  St. George broke into a laugh to reply.  “It’s
+the best thing you can do with her.  She’s a rare young lady!  In point
+of fact, however, I confess I hadn’t read you this afternoon.”
+
+“Then you see how right I was in this particular case not to believe Miss
+Fancourt.”
+
+“How right? how can I agree to that when I lost credit by it?”
+
+“Do you wish to pass exactly for what she represents you?  Certainly you
+needn’t be afraid,” Paul said.
+
+“Ah, my dear young man, don’t talk about passing—for the likes of me!
+I’m passing away—nothing else than that.  She has a better use for her
+young imagination (isn’t it fine?) than in ‘representing’ in any way such
+a weary wasted used-up animal!”  The Master spoke with a sudden sadness
+that produced a protest on Paul’s part; but before the protest could be
+uttered he went on, reverting to the latter’s striking novel: “I had no
+idea you were so good—one hears of so many things.  But you’re
+surprisingly good.”
+
+“I’m going to be surprisingly better,” Overt made bold to reply.
+
+“I see that, and it’s what fetches me.  I don’t see so much else—as one
+looks about—that’s going to be surprisingly better.  They’re going to be
+consistently worse—most of the things.  It’s so much easier to be
+worse—heaven knows I’ve found it so.  I’m not in a great glow, you know,
+about what’s breaking out all over the place.  But you _must_ be
+better—you really must keep it up.  I haven’t of course.  It’s very
+difficult—that’s the devil of the whole thing, keeping it up.  But I see
+you’ll be able to.  It will be a great disgrace if you don’t.”
+
+“It’s very interesting to hear you speak of yourself; but I don’t know
+what you mean by your allusions to your having fallen off,” Paul Overt
+observed with pardonable hypocrisy.  He liked his companion so much now
+that the fact of any decline of talent or of care had ceased for the
+moment to be vivid to him.
+
+“Don’t say that—don’t say that,” St. George returned gravely, his head
+resting on the top of the sofa-back and his eyes on the ceiling.  “You
+know perfectly what I mean.  I haven’t read twenty pages of your book
+without seeing that you can’t help it.”
+
+“You make me very miserable,” Paul ecstatically breathed.
+
+“I’m glad of that, for it may serve as a kind of warning.  Shocking
+enough it must be, especially to a young fresh mind, full of faith—the
+spectacle of a man meant for better things sunk at my age in such
+dishonour.”  St. George, in the same contemplative attitude, spoke softly
+but deliberately, and without perceptible emotion.  His tone indeed
+suggested an impersonal lucidity that was practically cruel—cruel to
+himself—and made his young friend lay an argumentative hand on his arm.
+But he went on while his eyes seemed to follow the graces of the
+eighteenth-century ceiling: “Look at me well, take my lesson to heart—for
+it _is_ a lesson.  Let that good come of it at least that you shudder
+with your pitiful impression, and that this may help to keep you straight
+in the future.  Don’t become in your old age what I have in mine—the
+depressing, the deplorable illustration of the worship of false gods!”
+
+“What do you mean by your old age?” the young man asked.
+
+“It has made me old.  But I like your youth.”
+
+Paul answered nothing—they sat for a minute in silence.  They heard the
+others going on about the governmental majority.  Then “What do you mean
+by false gods?” he enquired.
+
+His companion had no difficulty whatever in saying, “The idols of the
+market; money and luxury and ‘the world;’ placing one’s children and
+dressing one’s wife; everything that drives one to the short and easy
+way.  Ah the vile things they make one do!”
+
+“But surely one’s right to want to place one’s children.”
+
+“One has no business to have any children,” St. George placidly declared.
+“I mean of course if one wants to do anything good.”
+
+“But aren’t they an inspiration—an incentive?”
+
+“An incentive to damnation, artistically speaking.”
+
+“You touch on very deep things—things I should like to discuss with you,”
+Paul said.  “I should like you to tell me volumes about yourself.  This
+is a great feast for _me_!”
+
+“Of course it is, cruel youth.  But to show you I’m still not incapable,
+degraded as I am, of an act of faith, I’ll tie my vanity to the stake for
+you and burn it to ashes.  You must come and see me—you must come and see
+us,” the Master quickly substituted.  “Mrs. St. George is charming; I
+don’t know whether you’ve had any opportunity to talk with her.  She’ll
+be delighted to see you; she likes great celebrities, whether incipient
+or predominant.  You must come and dine—my wife will write to you.  Where
+are you to be found?”
+
+“This is my little address”—and Overt drew out his pocketbook and
+extracted a visiting-card.  On second thoughts, however, he kept it back,
+remarking that he wouldn’t trouble his friend to take charge of it but
+would come and see him straightway in London and leave it at his door if
+he should fail to obtain entrance.
+
+“Ah you’ll probably fail; my wife’s always out—or when she isn’t out is
+knocked up from having been out.  You must come and dine—though that
+won’t do much good either, for my wife insists on big dinners.”  St.
+George turned it over further, but then went on: “You must come down and
+see us in the country, that’s the best way; we’ve plenty of room, and it
+isn’t bad.”
+
+“You’ve a house in the country?” Paul asked enviously.
+
+“Ah not like this!  But we have a sort of place we go to—an hour from
+Euston.  That’s one of the reasons.”
+
+“One of the reasons?”
+
+“Why my books are so bad.”
+
+“You must tell me all the others!” Paul longingly laughed.
+
+His friend made no direct rejoinder to this, but spoke again abruptly.
+“Why have I never seen you before?”
+
+The tone of the question was singularly flattering to our hero, who felt
+it to imply the great man’s now perceiving he had for years missed
+something.  “Partly, I suppose, because there has been no particular
+reason why you should see me.  I haven’t lived in the world—in your
+world.  I’ve spent many years out of England, in different places
+abroad.”
+
+“Well, please don’t do it any more.  You must do England—there’s such a
+lot of it.”
+
+“Do you mean I must write about it?” and Paul struck the note of the
+listening candour of a child.
+
+“Of course you must.  And tremendously well, do you mind?  That takes off
+a little of my esteem for this thing of yours—that it goes on abroad.
+Hang ‘abroad!’  Stay at home and do things here—do subjects we can
+measure.”
+
+“I’ll do whatever you tell me,” Overt said, deeply attentive.  “But
+pardon me if I say I don’t understand how you’ve been reading my book,”
+he added.  “I’ve had you before me all the afternoon, first in that long
+walk, then at tea on the lawn, till we went to dress for dinner, and all
+the evening at dinner and in this place.”
+
+St. George turned his face about with a smile.  “I gave it but a quarter
+of an hour.”
+
+“A quarter of an hour’s immense, but I don’t understand where you put it
+in.  In the drawing-room after dinner you weren’t reading—you were
+talking to Miss Fancourt.”
+
+“It comes to the same thing, because we talked about ‘Ginistrella.’  She
+described it to me—she lent me her copy.”
+
+“Lent it to you?”
+
+“She travels with it.”
+
+“It’s incredible,” Paul blushed.
+
+“It’s glorious for you, but it also turned out very well for me.  When
+the ladies went off to bed she kindly offered to send the book down to
+me.  Her maid brought it to me in the hall and I went to my room with it.
+I hadn’t thought of coming here, I do that so little.  But I don’t sleep
+early, I always have to read an hour or two.  I sat down to your novel on
+the spot, without undressing, without taking off anything but my coat.  I
+think that’s a sign my curiosity had been strongly roused about it.  I
+read a quarter of an hour, as I tell you, and even in a quarter of an
+hour I was greatly struck.”
+
+“Ah the beginning isn’t very good—it’s the whole thing!” said Overt, who
+had listened to this recital with extreme interest.  “And you laid down
+the book and came after me?” he asked.
+
+“That’s the way it moved me.  I said to myself ‘I see it’s off his own
+bat, and he’s there, by the way, and the day’s over and I haven’t said
+twenty words to him.’  It occurred to me that you’d probably be in the
+smoking-room and that it wouldn’t be too late to repair my omission.  I
+wanted to do something civil to you, so I put on my coat and came down.
+I shall read your book again when I go up.”
+
+Our friend faced round in his place—he was touched as he had scarce ever
+been by the picture of such a demonstration in his favour.  “You’re
+really the kindest of men.  Cela s’est passé comme ça?—and I’ve been
+sitting here with you all this time and never apprehended it and never
+thanked you!”
+
+“Thank Miss Fancourt—it was she who wound me up.  She has made me feel as
+if I had read your novel.”
+
+“She’s an angel from heaven!” Paul declared.
+
+“She is indeed.  I’ve never seen any one like her.  Her interest in
+literature’s touching—something quite peculiar to herself; she takes it
+all so seriously.  She feels the arts and she wants to feel them more.
+To those who practise them it’s almost humiliating—her curiosity, her
+sympathy, her good faith.  How can anything be as fine as she supposes
+it?”
+
+“She’s a rare organisation,” the younger man sighed.
+
+“The richest I’ve ever seen—an artistic intelligence really of the first
+order.  And lodged in such a form!” St. George exclaimed.
+
+“One would like to represent such a girl as that,” Paul continued.
+
+“Ah there it is—there’s nothing like life!” said his companion.  “When
+you’re finished, squeezed dry and used up and you think the sack’s empty,
+you’re still appealed to, you still get touches and thrills, the idea
+springs up—out of the lap of the actual—and shows you there’s always
+something to be done.  But I shan’t do it—she’s not for me!”
+
+“How do you mean, not for you?”
+
+“Oh it’s all over—she’s for you, if you like.”
+
+“Ah much less!” said Paul.  “She’s not for a dingy little man of letters;
+she’s for the world, the bright rich world of bribes and rewards.  And
+the world will take hold of her—it will carry her away.”
+
+“It will try—but it’s just a case in which there may be a fight.  It
+would be worth fighting, for a man who had it in him, with youth and
+talent on his side.”
+
+These words rang not a little in Paul Overt’s consciousness—they held him
+briefly silent.  “It’s a wonder she has remained as she is; giving
+herself away so—with so much to give away.”
+
+“Remaining, you mean, so ingenuous—so natural?  Oh she doesn’t care a
+straw—she gives away because she overflows.  She has her own feelings,
+her own standards; she doesn’t keep remembering that she must be proud.
+And then she hasn’t been here long enough to be spoiled; she has picked
+up a fashion or two, but only the amusing ones.  She’s a provincial—a
+provincial of genius,” St. George went on; “her very blunders are
+charming, her mistakes are interesting.  She has come back from Asia with
+all sorts of excited curiosities and unappeased appetities.  She’s
+first-rate herself and she expends herself on the second-rate.  She’s
+life herself and she takes a rare interest in imitations.  She mixes all
+things up, but there are none in regard to which she hasn’t perceptions.
+She sees things in a perspective—as if from the top of the Himalayas—and
+she enlarges everything she touches.  Above all she exaggerates—to
+herself, I mean.  She exaggerates you and me!”
+
+There was nothing in that description to allay the agitation caused in
+our younger friend by such a sketch of a fine subject.  It seemed to him
+to show the art of St. George’s admired hand, and he lost himself in
+gazing at the vision—this hovered there before him—of a woman’s figure
+which should be part of the glory of a novel.  But at the end of a moment
+the thing had turned into smoke, and out of the smoke—the last puff of a
+big cigar—proceeded the voice of General Fancourt, who had left the
+others and come and planted himself before the gentlemen on the sofa.  “I
+suppose that when you fellows get talking you sit up half the night.”
+
+“Half the night?—jamais de la vie!  I follow a hygiene”—and St. George
+rose to his feet.
+
+“I see—you’re hothouse plants,” laughed the General.  “That’s the way you
+produce your flowers.”
+
+“I produce mine between ten and one every morning—I bloom with a
+regularity!” St. George went on.
+
+“And with a splendour!” added the polite General, while Paul noted how
+little the author of “Shadowmere” minded, as he phrased it to himself,
+when addressed as a celebrated story-teller.  The young man had an idea
+_he_ should never get used to that; it would always make him
+uncomfortable—from the suspicion that people would think they had to—and
+he would want to prevent it.  Evidently his great colleague had toughened
+and hardened—had made himself a surface.  The group of men had finished
+their cigars and taken up their bedroom candlesticks; but before they all
+passed out Lord Watermouth invited the pair of guests who had been so
+absorbed together to “have” something.  It happened that they both
+declined; upon which General Fancourt said: “Is that the hygiene?  You
+don’t water the flowers?”
+
+“Oh I should drown them!” St. George replied; but, leaving the room still
+at his young friend’s side, he added whimsically, for the latter’s
+benefit, in a lower tone: “My wife doesn’t let me.”
+
+“Well I’m glad I’m not one of you fellows!” the General richly concluded.
+
+The nearness of Summersoft to London had this consequence, chilling to a
+person who had had a vision of sociability in a railway-carriage, that
+most of the company, after breakfast, drove back to town, entering their
+own vehicles, which had come out to fetch them, while their servants
+returned by train with their luggage.  Three or four young men, among
+whom was Paul Overt, also availed themselves of the common convenience;
+but they stood in the portico of the house and saw the others roll away.
+Miss Fancourt got into a victoria with her father after she had shaken
+hands with our hero and said, smiling in the frankest way in the world,
+“I _must_ see you more.  Mrs. St. George is so nice: she has promised to
+ask us both to dinner together.”  This lady and her husband took their
+places in a perfectly-appointed brougham—she required a closed
+carriage—and as our young man waved his hat to them in response to their
+nods and flourishes he reflected that, taken together, they were an
+honourable image of success, of the material rewards and the social
+credit of literature.  Such things were not the full measure, but he
+nevertheless felt a little proud for literature.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+Before a week had elapsed he met Miss Fancourt in Bond Street, at a
+private view of the works of a young artist in “black-and-white” who had
+been so good as to invite him to the stuffy scene.  The drawings were
+admirable, but the crowd in the one little room was so dense that he felt
+himself up to his neck in a sack of wool.  A fringe of people at the
+outer edge endeavoured by curving forward their backs and presenting,
+below them, a still more convex surface of resistance to the pressure of
+the mass, to preserve an interval between their noses and the glazed
+mounts of the pictures; while the central body, in the comparative gloom
+projected by a wide horizontal screen hung under the skylight and
+allowing only a margin for the day, remained upright dense and vague,
+lost in the contemplation of its own ingredients.  This contemplation sat
+especially in the sad eyes of certain female heads, surmounted with hats
+of strange convolution and plumage, which rose on long necks above the
+others.  One of the heads Paul perceived, was much the so most beautiful
+of the collection, and his next discovery was that it belonged to Miss
+Fancourt.  Its beauty was enhanced by the glad smile she sent him across
+surrounding obstructions, a smile that drew him to her as fast as he
+could make his way.  He had seen for himself at Summersoft that the last
+thing her nature contained was an affectation of indifference; yet even
+with this circumspection he took a fresh satisfaction in her not having
+pretended to await his arrival with composure.  She smiled as radiantly
+as if she wished to make him hurry, and as soon as he came within earshot
+she broke out in her voice of joy: “He’s here—he’s here—he’s coming back
+in a moment!”
+
+“Ah your father?” Paul returned as she offered him her hand.
+
+“Oh dear no, this isn’t in my poor father’s line.  I mean Mr. St. George.
+He has just left me to speak to some one—he’s coming back.  It’s he who
+brought me—wasn’t it charming?”
+
+“Ah that gives him a pull over me—I couldn’t have ‘brought’ you, could
+I?”
+
+“If you had been so kind as to propose it—why not you as well as he?” the
+girl returned with a face that, expressing no cheap coquetry, simply
+affirmed a happy fact.
+
+“Why he’s a père de famille.  They’ve privileges,” Paul explained.  And
+then quickly: “Will you go to see places with _me_?” he asked.
+
+“Anything you like!” she smiled.  “I know what you mean, that girls have
+to have a lot of people—”  Then she broke off: “I don’t know; I’m free.
+I’ve always been like that—I can go about with any one.  I’m so glad to
+meet you,” she added with a sweet distinctness that made those near her
+turn round.
+
+“Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of this squash,” her
+friend said.  “Surely people aren’t happy here!”
+
+“No, they’re awfully mornes, aren’t they?  But I’m very happy indeed and
+I promised Mr. St. George to remain in this spot till he comes back.
+He’s going to take me away.  They send him invitations for things of this
+sort—more than he wants.  It was so kind of him to think of me.”
+
+“They also send me invitations of this kind—more than _I_ want.  And if
+thinking of _you_ will do it—!” Paul went on.
+
+“Oh I delight in them—everything that’s life—everything that’s London!”
+
+“They don’t have private views in Asia, I suppose,” he laughed.  “But
+what a pity that for this year, even in this gorged city, they’re pretty
+well over.”
+
+“Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we’re going to be
+friends always.  Here he comes!” Miss Fancourt continued before Paul had
+time to respond.
+
+He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps led to
+his hurrying a little to say: “I hope that doesn’t mean I’m to wait till
+next year to see you.”
+
+“No, no—aren’t we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?” she panted with
+an eagerness as happy as his own.
+
+“That’s almost next year.  Is there no means of seeing you before?”
+
+She stared with all her brightness.  “Do you mean you’d _come_?”
+
+“Like a shot, if you’ll be so good as to ask me!”
+
+“On Sunday then—this next Sunday?”
+
+“What have I done that you should doubt it?” the young man asked with
+delight.
+
+Miss Fancourt turned instantly to St. George, who had now joined them,
+and announced triumphantly: “He’s coming on Sunday—this next Sunday!”
+
+“Ah my day—my day too!” said the famous novelist, laughing, to their
+companion.
+
+“Yes, but not yours only.  You shall meet in Manchester Square; you shall
+talk—you shall be wonderful!”
+
+“We don’t meet often enough,” St. George allowed, shaking hands with his
+disciple.  “Too many things—ah too many things!  But we must make it up
+in the country in September.  You won’t forget you’ve promised me that?”
+
+“Why he’s coming on the twenty-fifth—you’ll see him then,” said the girl.
+
+“On the twenty-fifth?” St. George asked vaguely.
+
+“We dine with you; I hope you haven’t forgotten.  He’s dining out that
+day,” she added gaily to Paul.
+
+“Oh bless me, yes—that’s charming!  And you’re coming?  My wife didn’t
+tell me,” St. George said to him.  “Too many things—too many things!” he
+repeated.
+
+“Too many people—too many people!” Paul exclaimed, giving ground before
+the penetration of an elbow.
+
+“You oughtn’t to say that.  They all read you.”
+
+“Me?  I should like to see them!  Only two or three at most,” the young
+man returned.
+
+“Did you ever hear anything like that?  He knows, haughtily, how good he
+is!” St. George declared, laughing to Miss Fancourt.  “They read _me_,
+but that doesn’t make me like them any better.  Come away from them, come
+away!”  And he led the way out of the exhibition.
+
+“He’s going to take me to the Park,” Miss Fancourt observed to Overt with
+elation as they passed along the corridor that led to the street.
+
+“Ah does he go there?” Paul asked, taking the fact for a somewhat
+unexpected illustration of St. George’s moeurs.
+
+“It’s a beautiful day—there’ll be a great crowd.  We’re going to look at
+the people, to look at types,” the girl went on.  “We shall sit under the
+trees; we shall walk by the Row.”
+
+“I go once a year—on business,” said St. George, who had overheard Paul’s
+question.
+
+“Or with a country cousin, didn’t you tell me?  I’m the country cousin!”
+she continued over her shoulder to Paul as their friend drew her toward a
+hansom to which he had signalled.  The young man watched them get in; he
+returned, as he stood there, the friendly wave of the hand with which,
+ensconced in the vehicle beside her, St. George took leave of him.  He
+even lingered to see the vehicle start away and lose itself in the
+confusion of Bond Street.  He followed it with his eyes; it put to him
+embarrassing things.  “She’s not for _me_!” the great novelist had said
+emphatically at Summersoft; but his manner of conducting himself toward
+her appeared not quite in harmony with such a conviction.  How could he
+have behaved differently if she _had_ been for him?  An indefinite envy
+rose in Paul Overt’s heart as he took his way on foot alone; a feeling
+addressed alike strangely enough, to each of the occupants of the hansom.
+How much he should like to rattle about London with such a girl!  How
+much he should like to go and look at “types” with St. George!
+
+The next Sunday at four o’clock he called in Manchester Square, where his
+secret wish was gratified by his finding Miss Fancourt alone.  She was in
+a large bright friendly occupied room, which was painted red all over,
+draped with the quaint cheap florid stuffs that are represented as coming
+from southern and eastern countries, where they are fabled to serve as
+the counterpanes of the peasantry, and bedecked with pottery of vivid
+hues, ranged on casual shelves, and with many water-colour drawings from
+the hand (as the visitor learned) of the young lady herself,
+commemorating with a brave breadth the sunsets, the mountains, the
+temples and palaces of India.  He sat an hour—more than an hour, two
+hours—and all the while no one came in.  His hostess was so good as to
+remark, with her liberal humanity, that it was delightful they weren’t
+interrupted; it was so rare in London, especially at that season, that
+people got a good talk.  But luckily now, of a fine Sunday, half the
+world went out of town, and that made it better for those who didn’t go,
+when these others were in sympathy.  It was the defect of London—one of
+two or three, the very short list of those she recognised in the teeming
+world-city she adored—that there were too few good chances for talk; you
+never had time to carry anything far.
+
+“Too many things—too many things!” Paul said, quoting St. George’s
+exclamation of a few days before.
+
+“Ah yes, for him there are too many—his life’s too complicated.”
+
+“Have you seen it _near_?  That’s what I should like to do; it might
+explain some mysteries,” her visitor went on.  She asked him what
+mysteries he meant, and he said: “Oh peculiarities of his work,
+inequalities, superficialities.  For one who looks at it from the
+artistic point of view it contains a bottomless ambiguity.”
+
+She became at this, on the spot, all intensity.  “Ah do describe that
+more—it’s so interesting.  There are no such suggestive questions.  I’m
+so fond of them.  He thinks he’s a failure—fancy!” she beautifully
+wailed.
+
+“That depends on what his ideal may have been.  With his gifts it ought
+to have been high.  But till one knows what he really proposed to
+himself—?  Do _you_ know by chance?” the young man broke off.
+
+“Oh he doesn’t talk to me about himself.  I can’t make him.  It’s too
+provoking.”
+
+Paul was on the point of asking what then he did talk about, but
+discretion checked it and he said instead: “Do you think he’s unhappy at
+home?”
+
+She seemed to wonder.  “At home?”
+
+“I mean in his relations with his wife.  He has a mystifying little way
+of alluding to her.”
+
+“Not to me,” said Marian Fancourt with her clear eyes.  “That wouldn’t be
+right, would it?” she asked gravely.
+
+“Not particularly; so I’m glad he doesn’t mention her to you.  To praise
+her might bore you, and he has no business to do anything else.  Yet he
+knows you better than me.”
+
+“Ah but he respects _you_!” the girl cried as with envy.
+
+Her visitor stared a moment, then broke into a laugh.  “Doesn’t he
+respect you?”
+
+“Of course, but not in the same way.  He respects what you’ve done—he
+told me so, the other day.”
+
+Paul drank it in, but retained his faculties.  “When you went to look at
+types?”
+
+“Yes—we found so many: he has such an observation of them!  He talked a
+great deal about your book.  He says it’s really important.”
+
+“Important!  Ah the grand creature!”—and the author of the work in
+question groaned for joy.
+
+“He was wonderfully amusing, he was inexpressibly droll, while we walked
+about.  He sees everything; he has so many comparisons and images, and
+they’re always exactly right.  C’est d’un trouvé, as they say.”
+
+“Yes, with his gifts, such things as he ought to have done!” Paul sighed.
+
+“And don’t you think he _has_ done them?”
+
+Ah it was just the point.  “A part of them, and of course even that
+part’s immense.  But he might have been one of the greatest.  However,
+let us not make this an hour of qualifications.  Even as they stand,” our
+friend earnestly concluded, “his writings are a mine of gold.”
+
+To this proposition she ardently responded, and for half an hour the pair
+talked over the Master’s principal productions.  She knew them well—she
+knew them even better than her visitor, who was struck with her critical
+intelligence and with something large and bold in the movement in her
+mind.  She said things that startled him and that evidently had come to
+her directly; they weren’t picked-up phrases—she placed them too well.
+St. George had been right about her being first-rate, about her not being
+afraid to gush, not remembering that she must be proud.  Suddenly
+something came back to her, and she said: “I recollect that he did speak
+of Mrs. St. George to me once.  He said, apropos of something or other,
+that she didn’t care for perfection.”
+
+“That’s a great crime in an artist’s wife,” Paul returned.
+
+“Yes, poor thing!” and the girl sighed with a suggestion of many
+reflexions, some of them mitigating.  But she presently added: “Ah
+perfection, perfection—how one ought to go in for it!  I wish _I_ could.”
+
+“Every one can in his way,” her companion opined.
+
+“In _his_ way, yes—but not in hers.  Women are so hampered—so condemned!
+Yet it’s a kind of dishonour if you don’t, when you want to _do_
+something, isn’t it?”  Miss Fancourt pursued, dropping one train in her
+quickness to take up another, an accident that was common with her.  So
+these two young persons sat discussing high themes in their eclectic
+drawing-room, in their London “season”—discussing, with extreme
+seriousness, the high theme of perfection.  It must be said in
+extenuation of this eccentricity that they were interested in the
+business.  Their tone had truth and their emotion beauty; they weren’t
+posturing for each other or for some one else.
+
+The subject was so wide that they found themselves reducing it; the
+perfection to which for the moment they agreed to confine their
+speculations was that of the valid, the exemplary work of art.  Our young
+woman’s imagination, it appeared, had wandered far in that direction, and
+her guest had the rare delight of feeling in their conversation a full
+interchange.  This episode will have lived for years in his memory and
+even in his wonder; it had the quality that fortune distils in a single
+drop at a time—the quality that lubricates many ensuing frictions.  He
+still, whenever he likes, has a vision of the room, the bright red
+sociable talkative room with the curtains that, by a stroke of successful
+audacity, had the note of vivid blue.  He remembers where certain things
+stood, the particular book open on the table and the almost intense odour
+of the flowers placed, at the left, somewhere behind him.  These facts
+were the fringe, as it were, of a fine special agitation which had its
+birth in those two hours and of which perhaps the main sign was in its
+leading him inwardly and repeatedly to breathe “I had no idea there was
+any one like this—I had no idea there was any one like this!”  Her
+freedom amazed him and charmed him—it seemed so to simplify the practical
+question.  She was on the footing of an independent personage—a
+motherless girl who had passed out of her teens and had a position and
+responsibilities, who wasn’t held down to the limitations of a little
+miss.  She came and went with no dragged duenna, she received people
+alone, and, though she was totally without hardness, the question of
+protection or patronage had no relevancy in regard to her.  She gave such
+an impression of the clear and the noble combined with the easy and the
+natural that in spite of her eminent modern situation she suggested no
+sort of sister-hood with the “fast” girl.  Modern she was indeed, and
+made Paul Overt, who loved old colour, the golden glaze of time, think
+with some alarm of the muddled palette of the future.  He couldn’t get
+used to her interest in the arts he cared for; it seemed too good to be
+real—it was so unlikely an adventure to tumble into such a well of
+sympathy.  One might stray into the desert easily—that was on the cards
+and that was the law of life; but it was too rare an accident to stumble
+on a crystal well.  Yet if her aspirations seemed at one moment too
+extravagant to be real they struck him at the next as too intelligent to
+be false.  They were both high and lame, and, whims for whims, he
+preferred them to any he had met in a like relation.  It was probable
+enough she would leave them behind—exchange them for politics or
+“smartness” or mere prolific maternity, as was the custom of scribbling
+daubing educated flattered girls in an age of luxury and a society of
+leisure.  He noted that the water-colours on the walls of the room she
+sat in had mainly the quality of being naïves, and reflected that naïveté
+in art is like a zero in a number: its importance depends on the figure
+it is united with.  Meanwhile, however, he had fallen in love with her.
+Before he went away, at any rate, he said to her: “I thought St. George
+was coming to see you to-day, but he doesn’t turn up.”
+
+For a moment he supposed she was going to cry “Comment donc?  Did you
+come here only to meet him?”  But the next he became aware of how little
+such a speech would have fallen in with any note of flirtation he had as
+yet perceived in her.  She only replied: “Ah yes, but I don’t think he’ll
+come.  He recommended me not to expect him.”  Then she gaily but all
+gently added: “He said it wasn’t fair to you.  But I think I could manage
+two.”
+
+“So could I,” Paul Overt returned, stretching the point a little to meet
+her.  In reality his appreciation of the occasion was so completely an
+appreciation of the woman before him that another figure in the scene,
+even so esteemed a one as St. George, might for the hour have appealed to
+him vainly.  He left the house wondering what the great man had meant by
+its not being fair to him; and, still more than that, whether he had
+actually stayed away from the force of that idea.  As he took his course
+through the Sunday solitude of Manchester Square, swinging his stick and
+with a good deal of emotion fermenting in his soul, it appeared to him he
+was living in a world strangely magnanimous.  Miss Fancourt had told him
+it was possible she should be away, and that her father should be, on the
+following Sunday, but that she had the hope of a visit from him in the
+other event.  She promised to let him know should their absence fail, and
+then he might act accordingly.  After he had passed into one of the
+streets that open from the Square he stopped, without definite
+intentions, looking sceptically for a cab.  In a moment he saw a hansom
+roll through the place from the other side and come a part of the way
+toward him.  He was on the point of hailing the driver when he noticed a
+“fare” within; then he waited, seeing the man prepare to deposit his
+passenger by pulling up at one of the houses.  The house was apparently
+the one he himself had just quitted; at least he drew that inference as
+he recognised Henry St. George in the person who stepped out of the
+hansom.  Paul turned off as quickly as if he had been caught in the act
+of spying.  He gave up his cab—he preferred to walk; he would go nowhere
+else.  He was glad St. George hadn’t renounced his visit altogether—that
+would have been too absurd.  Yes, the world was magnanimous, and even he
+himself felt so as, on looking at his watch, he noted but six o’clock, so
+that he could mentally congratulate his successor on having an hour still
+to sit in Miss Fancourt’s drawing-room.  He himself might use that hour
+for another visit, but by the time he reached the Marble Arch the idea of
+such a course had become incongruous to him.  He passed beneath that
+architectural effort and walked into the Park till he got upon the
+spreading grass.  Here he continued to walk; he took his way across the
+elastic turf and came out by the Serpentine.  He watched with a friendly
+eye the diversions of the London people, he bent a glance almost
+encouraging on the young ladies paddling their sweethearts about the lake
+and the guardsmen tickling tenderly with their bearskins the artificial
+flowers in the Sunday hats of their partners.  He prolonged his
+meditative walk; he went into Kensington Gardens, he sat upon the penny
+chairs, he looked at the little sail-boats launched upon the round pond
+and was glad he had no engagement to dine.  He repaired for this purpose,
+very late, to his club, where he found himself unable to order a repast
+and told the waiter to bring whatever there was.  He didn’t even observe
+what he was served with, and he spent the evening in the library of the
+establishment, pretending to read an article in an American magazine.  He
+failed to discover what it was about; it appeared in a dim way to be
+about Marian Fancourt.
+
+Quite late in the week she wrote to him that she was not to go into the
+country—it had only just been settled.  Her father, she added, would
+never settle anything, but put it all on her.  She felt her
+responsibility—she had to—and since she was forced this was the way she
+had decided.  She mentioned no reasons, which gave our friend all the
+clearer field for bold conjecture about them.  In Manchester Square on
+this second Sunday he esteemed his fortune less good, for she had three
+or four other visitors.  But there were three or four compensations;
+perhaps the greatest of which was that, learning how her father had after
+all, at the last hour, gone out of town alone, the bold conjecture I just
+now spoke of found itself becoming a shade more bold.  And then her
+presence was her presence, and the personal red room was there and was
+full of it, whatever phantoms passed and vanished, emitting
+incomprehensible sounds.  Lastly, he had the resource of staying till
+every one had come and gone and of believing this grateful to her, though
+she gave no particular sign.  When they were alone together he came to
+his point.  “But St. George did come—last Sunday.  I saw him as I looked
+back.”
+
+“Yes; but it was the last time.”
+
+“The last time?”
+
+“He said he would never come again.”
+
+Paul Overt stared.  “Does he mean he wishes to cease to see you?”
+
+“I don’t know what he means,” the girl bravely smiled.  “He won’t at any
+rate see me here.”
+
+“And pray why not?”
+
+“I haven’t the least idea,” said Marian Fancourt, whose visitor found her
+more perversely sublime than ever yet as she professed this clear
+helplessness.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+“OH I say, I want you to stop a little,” Henry St. George said to him at
+eleven o’clock the night he dined with the head of the profession.  The
+company—none of it indeed _of_ the profession—had been numerous and was
+taking its leave; our young man, after bidding good-night to his hostess,
+had put out his hand in farewell to the master of the house.  Besides
+drawing from the latter the protest I have cited this movement provoked a
+further priceless word about their chance now to have a talk, their going
+into his room, his having still everything to say.  Paul Overt was all
+delight at this kindness; nevertheless he mentioned in weak jocose
+qualification the bare fact that he had promised to go to another place
+which was at a considerable distance.
+
+“Well then you’ll break your promise, that’s all.  You quite awful
+humbug!” St. George added in a tone that confirmed our young man’s ease.
+
+“Certainly I’ll break it—but it was a real promise.”
+
+“Do you mean to Miss Fancourt?  You’re following her?” his friend asked.
+
+He answered by a question.  “Oh is _she_ going?”
+
+“Base impostor!” his ironic host went on.  “I’ve treated you handsomely
+on the article of that young lady: I won’t make another concession.  Wait
+three minutes—I’ll be with you.”  He gave himself to his departing
+guests, accompanied the long-trained ladies to the door.  It was a hot
+night, the windows were open, the sound of the quick carriages and of the
+linkmen’s call came into the house.  The affair had rather glittered; a
+sense of festal things was in the heavy air: not only the influence of
+that particular entertainment, but the suggestion of the wide hurry of
+pleasure which in London on summer nights fills so many of the happier
+quarters of the complicated town.  Gradually Mrs. St. George’s
+drawing-room emptied itself; Paul was left alone with his hostess, to
+whom he explained the motive of his waiting.  “Ah yes, some intellectual,
+some _professional_, talk,” she leered; “at this season doesn’t one miss
+it?  Poor dear Henry, I’m so glad!”  The young man looked out of the
+window a moment, at the called hansoms that lurched up, at the smooth
+broughams that rolled away.  When he turned round Mrs. St. George had
+disappeared; her husband’s voice rose to him from below—he was laughing
+and talking, in the portico, with some lady who awaited her carriage.
+Paul had solitary possession, for some minutes, of the warm deserted
+rooms where the covered tinted lamplight was soft, the seats had been
+pushed about and the odour of flowers lingered.  They were large, they
+were pretty, they contained objects of value; everything in the picture
+told of a “good house.”  At the end of five minutes a servant came in
+with a request from the Master that he would join him downstairs; upon
+which, descending, he followed his conductor through a long passage to an
+apartment thrown out, in the rear of the habitation, for the special
+requirements, as he guessed, of a busy man of letters.
+
+St. George was in his shirt-sleeves in the middle of a large high room—a
+room without windows, but with a wide skylight at the top, that of a
+place of exhibition.  It was furnished as a library, and the serried
+bookshelves rose to the ceiling, a surface of incomparable tone produced
+by dimly-gilt “backs” interrupted here and there by the suspension of old
+prints and drawings.  At the end furthest from the door of admission was
+a tall desk, of great extent, at which the person using it could write
+only in the erect posture of a clerk in a counting-house; and stretched
+from the entrance to this structure was a wide plain band of crimson
+cloth, as straight as a garden-path and almost as long, where, in his
+mind’s eye, Paul at once beheld the Master pace to and fro during vexed
+hours—hours, that is, of admirable composition.  The servant gave him a
+coat, an old jacket with a hang of experience, from a cupboard in the
+wall, retiring afterwards with the garment he had taken off.  Paul Overt
+welcomed the coat; it was a coat for talk, it promised confidences—having
+visibly received so many—and had tragic literary elbows.  “Ah we’re
+practical—we’re practical!” St. George said as he saw his visitor look
+the place over.  “Isn’t it a good big cage for going round and round?  My
+wife invented it and she locks me up here every morning.”
+
+Our young man breathed—by way of tribute—with a certain oppression.  “You
+don’t miss a window—a place to look out?”
+
+“I did at first awfully; but her calculation was just.  It saves time, it
+has saved me many months in these ten years.  Here I stand, under the eye
+of day—in London of course, very often, it’s rather a bleared old
+eye—walled in to my trade.  I can’t get away—so the room’s a fine lesson
+in concentration.  I’ve learnt the lesson, I think; look at that big
+bundle of proof and acknowledge it.”  He pointed to a fat roll of papers,
+on one of the tables, which had not been undone.
+
+“Are you bringing out another—?” Paul asked in a tone the fond
+deficiencies of which he didn’t recognise till his companion burst out
+laughing, and indeed scarce even then.
+
+“You humbug, you humbug!”—St. George appeared to enjoy caressing him, as
+it were, with that opprobrium.  “Don’t I know what you think of them?” he
+asked, standing there with his hands in his pockets and with a new kind
+of smile.  It was as if he were going to let his young votary see him all
+now.
+
+“Upon my word in that case you know more than I do!” the latter ventured
+to respond, revealing a part of the torment of being able neither clearly
+to esteem nor distinctly to renounce him.
+
+“My dear fellow,” said the more and more interesting Master, “don’t
+imagine I talk about my books specifically; they’re not a decent
+subject—il ne manquerait plus que ça!  I’m not so bad as you may
+apprehend!  About myself, yes, a little, if you like; though it wasn’t
+for that I brought you down here.  I want to ask you something—very much
+indeed; I value this chance.  Therefore sit down.  We’re practical, but
+there _is_ a sofa, you see—for she does humour my poor bones so far.
+Like all really great administrators and disciplinarians she knows when
+wisely to relax.”  Paul sank into the corner of a deep leathern couch,
+but his friend remained standing and explanatory.  “If you don’t mind, in
+this room, this is my habit.  From the door to the desk and from the desk
+to the door.  That shakes up my imagination gently; and don’t you see
+what a good thing it is that there’s no window for her to fly out of?
+The eternal standing as I write (I stop at that bureau and put it down,
+when anything comes, and so we go on) was rather wearisome at first, but
+we adopted it with an eye to the long run; you’re in better order—if your
+legs don’t break down!—and you can keep it up for more years.  Oh we’re
+practical—we’re practical!” St. George repeated, going to the table and
+taking up all mechanically the bundle of proofs.  But, pulling off the
+wrapper, he had a change of attention that appealed afresh to our hero.
+He lost himself a moment, examining the sheets of his new book, while the
+younger man’s eyes wandered over the room again.
+
+“Lord, what good things I should do if I had such a charming place as
+this to do them in!” Paul reflected.  The outer world, the world of
+accident and ugliness, was so successfully excluded, and within the rich
+protecting square, beneath the patronising sky, the dream-figures, the
+summoned company, could hold their particular revel.  It was a fond
+prevision of Overt’s rather than an observation on actual data, for which
+occasions had been too few, that the Master thus more closely viewed
+would have the quality, the charming gift, of flashing out, all
+surprisingly, in personal intercourse and at moments of suspended or
+perhaps even of diminished expectation.  A happy relation with him would
+be a thing proceeding by jumps, not by traceable stages.
+
+“Do you read them—really?” he asked, laying down the proofs on Paul’s
+enquiring of him how soon the work would be published.  And when the
+young man answered “Oh yes, always,” he was moved to mirth again by
+something he caught in his manner of saying that.  “You go to see your
+grandmother on her birthday—and very proper it is, especially as she
+won’t last for ever.  She has lost every faculty and every sense; she
+neither sees, nor hears, nor speaks; but all customary pieties and kindly
+habits are respectable.  Only you’re strong if you _do_ read ’em!  _I_
+couldn’t, my dear fellow.  You are strong, I know; and that’s just a part
+of what I wanted to say to you.  You’re very strong indeed.  I’ve been
+going into your other things—they’ve interested me immensely.  Some one
+ought to have told me about them before—some one I could believe.  But
+whom can one believe?  You’re wonderfully on the right road—it’s awfully
+decent work.  Now do you mean to keep it up?—that’s what I want to ask
+you.”
+
+“Do I mean to do others?” Paul asked, looking up from his sofa at his
+erect inquisitor and feeling partly like a happy little boy when the
+school-master is gay, and partly like some pilgrim of old who might have
+consulted a world-famous oracle.  St. George’s own performance had been
+infirm, but as an adviser he would be infallible.
+
+“Others—others?  Ah the number won’t matter; one other would do, if it
+were really a further step—a throb of the same effort.  What I mean is
+have you it in your heart to go in for some sort of decent perfection?”
+
+“Ah decency, ah perfection—!” the young man sincerely sighed.  “I talked
+of them the other Sunday with Miss Fancourt.”
+
+It produced on the Master’s part a laugh of odd acrimony.  “Yes, they’ll
+‘talk’ of them as much as you like!  But they’ll do little to help one to
+them.  There’s no obligation of course; only you strike me as capable,”
+he went on.  “You must have thought it all over.  I can’t believe you’re
+without a plan.  That’s the sensation you give me, and it’s so rare that
+it really stirs one up—it makes you remarkable.  If you haven’t a plan,
+if you _don’t_ mean to keep it up, surely you’re within your rights; it’s
+nobody’s business, no one can force you, and not more than two or three
+people will notice you don’t go straight.  The others—_all_ the rest,
+every blest soul in England, will think you do—will think you are keeping
+it up: upon my honour they will!  I shall be one of the two or three who
+know better.  Now the question is whether you can do it for two or three.
+Is that the stuff you’re made of?”
+
+It locked his guest a minute as in closed throbbing arms.  “I could do it
+for one, if you were the one.”
+
+“Don’t say that; I don’t deserve it; it scorches me,” he protested with
+eyes suddenly grave and glowing.  “The ‘one’ is of course one’s self,
+one’s conscience, one’s idea, the singleness of one’s aim.  I think of
+that pure spirit as a man thinks of a woman he has in some detested hour
+of his youth loved and forsaken.  She haunts him with reproachful eyes,
+she lives for ever before him.  As an artist, you know, I’ve married for
+money.”  Paul stared and even blushed a little, confounded by this
+avowal; whereupon his host, observing the expression of his face, dropped
+a quick laugh and pursued: “You don’t follow my figure.  I’m not speaking
+of my dear wife, who had a small fortune—which, however, was not my
+bribe.  I fell in love with her, as many other people have done.  I refer
+to the mercenary muse whom I led to the altar of literature.  Don’t, my
+boy, put your nose into _that_ yoke.  The awful jade will lead you a
+life!”
+
+Our hero watched him, wondering and deeply touched.  “Haven’t you been
+happy!”
+
+“Happy?  It’s a kind of hell.”
+
+“There are things I should like to ask you,” Paul said after a pause.
+
+“Ask me anything in all the world.  I’d turn myself inside out to save
+you.”
+
+“To ‘save’ me?” he quavered.
+
+“To make you stick to it—to make you see it through.  As I said to you
+the other night at Summersoft, let my example be vivid to you.”
+
+“Why your books are not so bad as that,” said Paul, fairly laughing and
+feeling that if ever a fellow had breathed the air of art—!
+
+“So bad as what?”
+
+“Your talent’s so great that it’s in everything you do, in what’s less
+good as well as in what’s best.  You’ve some forty volumes to show for
+it—forty volumes of wonderful life, of rare observation, of magnificent
+ability.”
+
+“I’m very clever, of course I know that”—but it was a thing, in fine,
+this author made nothing of.  “Lord, what rot they’d all be if I hadn’t
+been I’m a successful charlatan,” he went on—“I’ve been able to pass off
+my system.  But do you know what it is?  It’s cartonpierre.”
+
+“Carton-pierre?” Paul was struck, and gaped.
+
+“Lincrusta-Walton!”
+
+“Ah don’t say such things—you make me bleed!” the younger man protested.
+“I see you in a beautiful fortunate home, living in comfort and honour.”
+
+“Do you call it honour?”—his host took him up with an intonation that
+often comes back to him.  “That’s what I want _you_ to go in for.  I mean
+the real thing.  This is brummagem.”
+
+“Brummagem?” Paul ejaculated while his eyes wandered, by a movement
+natural at the moment, over the luxurious room.
+
+“Ah they make it so well to-day—it’s wonderfully deceptive!”
+
+Our friend thrilled with the interest and perhaps even more with the pity
+of it.  Yet he wasn’t afraid to seem to patronise when he could still so
+far envy.  “Is it deceptive that I find you living with every appearance
+of domestic felicity—blest with a devoted, accomplished wife, with
+children whose acquaintance I haven’t yet had the pleasure of making, but
+who _must_ be delightful young people, from what I know of their
+parents?”
+
+St. George smiled as for the candour of his question.  “It’s all
+excellent, my dear fellow—heaven forbid I should deny it.  I’ve made a
+great deal of money; my wife has known how to take care of it, to use it
+without wasting it, to put a good bit of it by, to make it fructify.
+I’ve got a loaf on the shelf; I’ve got everything in fact but the great
+thing.”
+
+“The great thing?” Paul kept echoing.
+
+“The sense of having done the best—the sense which is the real life of
+the artist and the absence of which is his death, of having drawn from
+his intellectual instrument the finest music that nature had hidden in
+it, of having played it as it should be played.  He either does that or
+he doesn’t—and if he doesn’t he isn’t worth speaking of.  Therefore,
+precisely, those who really know _don’t_ speak of him.  He may still hear
+a great chatter, but what he hears most is the incorruptible silence of
+Fame.  I’ve squared her, you may say, for my little hour—but what’s my
+little hour?  Don’t imagine for a moment,” the Master pursued, “that I’m
+such a cad as to have brought you down here to abuse or to complain of my
+wife to you.  She’s a woman of distinguished qualities, to whom my
+obligations are immense; so that, if you please, we’ll say nothing about
+her.  My boys—my children are all boys—are straight and strong, thank
+God, and have no poverty of growth about them, no penury of needs.  I
+receive periodically the most satisfactory attestation from Harrow, from
+Oxford, from Sandhurst—oh we’ve done the best for them!—of their eminence
+as living thriving consuming organisms.”
+
+“It must be delightful to feel that the son of one’s loins is at
+Sandhurst,” Paul remarked enthusiastically.
+
+“It is—it’s charming.  Oh I’m a patriot!”
+
+The young man then could but have the greater tribute of questions to
+pay.  “Then what did you mean—the other night at Summersoft—by saying
+that children are a curse?”
+
+“My dear youth, on what basis are we talking?” and St. George dropped
+upon the sofa at a short distance from him.  Sitting a little sideways he
+leaned back against the opposite arm with his hands raised and
+interlocked behind his head.  “On the supposition that a certain
+perfection’s possible and even desirable—isn’t it so?  Well, all I say is
+that one’s children interfere with perfection.  One’s wife interferes.
+Marriage interferes.”
+
+“You think then the artist shouldn’t marry?”
+
+“He does so at his peril—he does so at his cost.”
+
+“Not even when his wife’s in sympathy with his work?”
+
+“She never is—she can’t be!  Women haven’t a conception of such things.”
+
+“Surely they on occasion work themselves,” Paul objected.
+
+“Yes, very badly indeed.  Oh of course, often, they think they
+understand, they think they sympathise.  Then it is they’re most
+dangerous.  Their idea is that you shall do a great lot and get a great
+lot of money.  Their great nobleness and virtue, their exemplary
+conscientiousness as British females, is in keeping you up to that.  My
+wife makes all my bargains with my publishers for me, and has done so for
+twenty years.  She does it consummately well—that’s why I’m really pretty
+well off.  Aren’t you the father of their innocent babes, and will you
+withhold from them their natural sustenance?  You asked me the other
+night if they’re not an immense incentive.  Of course they are—there’s no
+doubt of that!”
+
+Paul turned it over: it took, from eyes he had never felt open so wide,
+so much looking at.  “For myself I’ve an idea I need incentives.”
+
+“Ah well then, n’en parlons plus!” his companion handsomely smiled.
+
+“_You_ are an incentive, I maintain,” the young man went on.  “You don’t
+affect me in the way you’d apparently like to.  Your great success is
+what I see—the pomp of Ennismore Gardens!”
+
+“Success?”—St. George’s eyes had a cold fine light.  “Do you call it
+success to be spoken of as you’d speak of me if you were sitting here
+with another artist—a young man intelligent and sincere like yourself?
+Do you call it success to make you blush—as you would blush!—if some
+foreign critic (some fellow, of course I mean, who should know what he
+was talking about and should have shown you he did, as foreign critics
+like to show it) were to say to you: ‘He’s the one, in this country, whom
+they consider the most perfect, isn’t he?’  Is it success to be the
+occasion of a young Englishman’s having to stammer as you would have to
+stammer at such a moment for old England?  No, no; success is to have
+made people wriggle to another tune.  Do try it!”
+
+Paul continued all gravely to glow.  “Try what?”
+
+“Try to do some really good work.”
+
+“Oh I want to, heaven knows!”
+
+“Well, you can’t do it without sacrifices—don’t believe that for a
+moment,” the Master said.  “I’ve made none.  I’ve had everything.  In
+other words I’ve missed everything.”
+
+“You’ve had the full rich masculine human general life, with all the
+responsibilities and duties and burdens and sorrows and joys—all the
+domestic and social initiations and complications.  They must be
+immensely suggestive, immensely amusing,” Paul anxiously submitted.
+
+“Amusing?”
+
+“For a strong man—yes.”
+
+“They’ve given me subjects without number, if that’s what you mean; but
+they’ve taken away at the same time the power to use them.  I’ve touched
+a thousand things, but which one of them have I turned into gold?  The
+artist has to do only with that—he knows nothing of any baser metal.
+I’ve led the life of the world, with my wife and my progeny; the clumsy
+conventional expensive materialised vulgarised brutalised life of London.
+We’ve got everything handsome, even a carriage—we’re perfect Philistines
+and prosperous hospitable eminent people.  But, my dear fellow, don’t try
+to stultify yourself and pretend you don’t know what we _haven’t_ got.
+It’s bigger than all the rest.  Between artists—come!” the Master wound
+up.  “You know as well as you sit there that you’d put a pistol-ball into
+your brain if you had written my books!”
+
+It struck his listener that the tremendous talk promised by him at
+Summersoft had indeed come off, and with a promptitude, a fulness, with
+which the latter’s young imagination had scarcely reckoned.  His
+impression fairly shook him and he throbbed with the excitement of such
+deep soundings and such strange confidences.  He throbbed indeed with the
+conflict of his feelings—bewilderment and recognition and alarm,
+enjoyment and protest and assent, all commingled with tenderness (and a
+kind of shame in the participation) for the sores and bruises exhibited
+by so fine a creature, and with a sense of the tragic secret nursed under
+his trappings.  The idea of _his_, Paul Overt’s, becoming the occasion of
+such an act of humility made him flush and pant, at the same time that
+his consciousness was in certain directions too much alive not to
+swallow—and not intensely to taste—every offered spoonful of the
+revelation.  It had been his odd fortune to blow upon the deep waters, to
+make them surge and break in waves of strange eloquence.  But how
+couldn’t he give out a passionate contradiction of his host’s last
+extravagance, how couldn’t he enumerate to him the parts of his work he
+loved, the splendid things he had found in it, beyond the compass of any
+other writer of the day?  St. George listened a while, courteously; then
+he said, laying his hand on his visitor’s: “That’s all very well; and if
+your idea’s to do nothing better there’s no reason you shouldn’t have as
+many good things as I—as many human and material appendages, as many sons
+or daughters, a wife with as many gowns, a house with as many servants, a
+stable with as many horses, a heart with as many aches.”  The Master got
+up when he had spoken thus—he stood a moment—near the sofa looking down
+on his agitated pupil.  “Are you possessed of any property?” it occurred
+to him to ask.
+
+“None to speak of.”
+
+“Oh well then there’s no reason why you shouldn’t make a goodish
+income—if you set about it the right way.  Study _me_ for that—study me
+well.  You may really have horses.”
+
+Paul sat there some minutes without speaking.  He looked straight before
+him—he turned over many things.  His friend had wandered away, taking up
+a parcel of letters from the table where the roll of proofs had lain.
+“What was the book Mrs. St. George made you burn—the one she didn’t
+like?” our young man brought out.
+
+“The book she made me burn—how did you know that?”  The Master looked up
+from his letters quite without the facial convulsion the pupil had
+feared.
+
+“I heard her speak of it at Summersoft.”
+
+“Ah yes—she’s proud of it.  I don’t know—it was rather good.”
+
+“What was it about?”
+
+“Let me see.”  And he seemed to make an effort to remember.  “Oh yes—it
+was about myself.”  Paul gave an irrepressible groan for the
+disappearance of such a production, and the elder man went on: “Oh but
+_you_ should write it—_you_ should do me.”  And he pulled up—from the
+restless motion that had come upon him; his fine smile a generous glare.
+“There’s a subject, my boy: no end of stuff in it!”
+
+Again Paul was silent, but it was all tormenting.  “Are there no women
+who really understand—who can take part in a sacrifice?”
+
+“How can they take part?  They themselves are the sacrifice.  They’re the
+idol and the altar and the flame.”
+
+“Isn’t there even _one_ who sees further?” Paul continued.
+
+For a moment St. George made no answer; after which, having torn up his
+letters, he came back to the point all ironic.  “Of course I know the one
+you mean.  But not even Miss Fancourt.”
+
+“I thought you admired her so much.”
+
+“It’s impossible to admire her more.  Are you in love with her?” St.
+George asked.
+
+“Yes,” Paul Overt presently said.
+
+“Well then give it up.”
+
+Paul stared.  “Give up my ‘love’?”
+
+“Bless me, no.  Your idea.”  And then as our hero but still gazed: “The
+one you talked with her about.  The idea of a decent perfection.”
+
+“She’d help it—she’d help it!” the young man cried.
+
+“For about a year—the first year, yes.  After that she’d be as a
+millstone round its neck.”
+
+Paul frankly wondered.  “Why she has a passion for the real thing, for
+good work—for everything you and I care for most.”
+
+“‘You and I’ is charming, my dear fellow!” his friend laughed.  “She has
+it indeed, but she’d have a still greater passion for her children—and
+very proper too.  She’d insist on everything’s being made comfortable,
+advantageous, propitious for them.  That isn’t the artist’s business.”
+
+“The artist—the artist!  Isn’t he a man all the same?”
+
+St. George had a grand grimace.  “I mostly think not.  You know as well
+as I what he has to do: the concentration, the finish, the independence
+he must strive for from the moment he begins to wish his work really
+decent.  Ah my young friend, his relation to women, and especially to the
+one he’s most intimately concerned with, is at the mercy of the damning
+fact that whereas he can in the nature of things have but one standard,
+they have about fifty.  That’s what makes them so superior,” St. George
+amusingly added.  “Fancy an artist with a change of standards as you’d
+have a change of shirts or of dinner-plates.  To _do_ it—to do it and
+make it divine—is the only thing he has to think about.  ‘Is it done or
+not?’ is his only question.  Not ‘Is it done as well as a proper
+solicitude for my dear little family will allow?’  He has nothing to do
+with the relative—he has only to do with the absolute; and a dear little
+family may represent a dozen relatives.”
+
+“Then you don’t allow him the common passions and affections of men?”
+Paul asked.
+
+“Hasn’t he a passion, an affection, which includes all the rest?
+Besides, let him have all the passions he likes—if he only keeps his
+independence.  He must be able to be poor.”
+
+Paul slowly got up.  “Why then did you advise me to make up to her?”
+
+St. George laid his hand on his shoulder.  “Because she’d make a splendid
+wife!  And I hadn’t read you then.”
+
+The young man had a strained smile.  “I wish you had left me alone!”
+
+“I didn’t know that that wasn’t good enough for you,” his host returned.
+
+“What a false position, what a condemnation of the artist, that he’s a
+mere disfranchised monk and can produce his effect only by giving up
+personal happiness.  What an arraignment of art!” Paul went on with a
+trembling voice.
+
+“Ah you don’t imagine by chance that I’m defending art?  ‘Arraignment’—I
+should think so!  Happy the societies in which it hasn’t made its
+appearance, for from the moment it comes they have a consuming ache, they
+have an incurable corruption, in their breast.  Most assuredly is the
+artist in a false position!  But I thought we were taking him for
+granted.  Pardon me,” St. George continued: “‘Ginistrella’ made me!”
+
+Paul stood looking at the floor—one o’clock struck, in the stillness,
+from a neighbouring church-tower.  “Do you think she’d ever look at me?”
+he put to his friend at last.
+
+“Miss Fancourt—as a suitor?  Why shouldn’t I think it?  That’s why I’ve
+tried to favour you—I’ve had a little chance or two of bettering your
+opportunity.”
+
+“Forgive my asking you, but do you mean by keeping away yourself?” Paul
+said with a blush.
+
+“I’m an old idiot—my place isn’t there,” St. George stated gravely.
+
+“I’m nothing yet, I’ve no fortune; and there must be so many others,” his
+companion pursued.
+
+The Master took this considerably in, but made little of it.  “You’re a
+gentleman and a man of genius.  I think you might do something.”
+
+“But if I must give that up—the genius?”
+
+“Lots of people, you know, think I’ve kept mine,” St. George wonderfully
+grinned.
+
+“You’ve a genius for mystification!” Paul declared; but grasping his hand
+gratefully in attenuation of this judgement.
+
+“Poor dear boy, I do worry you!  But try, try, all the same.  I think
+your chances are good and you’ll win a great prize.”
+
+Paul held fast the other’s hand a minute; he looked into the strange deep
+face.  “No, I _am_ an artist—I can’t help it!”
+
+“Ah show it then!” St. George pleadingly broke out.  “Let me see before I
+die the thing I most want, the thing I yearn for: a life in which the
+passion—ours—is really intense.  If you can be rare don’t fail of it!
+Think what it is—how it counts—how it lives!”
+
+They had moved to the door and he had closed both his hands over his
+companion’s.  Here they paused again and our hero breathed deep.  “I want
+to live!”
+
+“In what sense?”
+
+“In the greatest.”
+
+“Well then stick to it—see it through.”
+
+“With your sympathy—your help?”
+
+“Count on that—you’ll be a great figure to me.  Count on my highest
+appreciation, my devotion.  You’ll give me satisfaction—if that has any
+weight with you.”  After which, as Paul appeared still to waver, his host
+added: “Do you remember what you said to me at Summersoft?”
+
+“Something infatuated, no doubt!”
+
+“‘I’ll do anything in the world you tell me.’  You said that.”
+
+“And you hold me to it?”
+
+“Ah what am I?” the Master expressively sighed.
+
+“Lord, what things I shall have to do!” Paul almost moaned as be
+departed.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+“IT goes on too much abroad—hang abroad!”  These or something like them
+had been the Master’s remarkable words in relation to the action of
+“Ginistrella”; and yet, though they had made a sharp impression on the
+author of that work, like almost all spoken words from the same source,
+he a week after the conversation I have noted left England for a long
+absence and full of brave intentions.  It is not a perversion of the
+truth to pronounce that encounter the direct cause of his departure.  If
+the oral utterance of the eminent writer had the privilege of moving him
+deeply it was especially on his turning it over at leisure, hours and
+days later, that it appeared to yield him its full meaning and exhibit
+its extreme importance.  He spent the summer in Switzerland and, having
+in September begun a new task, determined not to cross the Alps till he
+should have made a good start.  To this end he returned to a quiet corner
+he knew well, on the edge of the Lake of Geneva and within sight of the
+towers of Chillon: a region and a view for which he had an affection that
+sprang from old associations and was capable of mysterious revivals and
+refreshments.  Here he lingered late, till the snow was on the nearer
+hills, almost down to the limit to which he could climb when his stint,
+on the shortening afternoons, was performed.  The autumn was fine, the
+lake was blue and his book took form and direction.  These felicities,
+for the time, embroidered his life, which he suffered to cover him with
+its mantle.  At the end of six weeks he felt he had learnt St. George’s
+lesson by heart, had tested and proved its doctrine.  Nevertheless he did
+a very inconsistent thing: before crossing the Alps he wrote to Marian
+Fancourt.  He was aware of the perversity of this act, and it was only as
+a luxury, an amusement, the reward of a strenuous autumn, that he
+justified it.  She had asked of him no such favour when, shortly before
+he left London, three days after their dinner in Ennismore Gardens, he
+went to take leave of her.  It was true she had had no ground—he hadn’t
+named his intention of absence.  He had kept his counsel for want of due
+assurance: it was that particular visit that was, the next thing, to
+settle the matter.  He had paid the visit to see how much he really cared
+for her, and quick departure, without so much as an explicit farewell,
+was the sequel to this enquiry, the answer to which had created within
+him a deep yearning.  When he wrote her from Clarens he noted that he
+owed her an explanation (more than three months after!) for not having
+told her what he was doing.
+
+She replied now briefly but promptly, and gave him a striking piece of
+news: that of the death, a week before, of Mrs. St. George.  This
+exemplary woman had succumbed, in the country, to a violent attack of
+inflammation of the lungs—he would remember that for a long time she had
+been delicate.  Miss Fancourt added that she believed her husband
+overwhelmed by the blow; he would miss her too terribly—she had been
+everything in life to him.  Paul Overt, on this, immediately wrote to St.
+George.  He would from the day of their parting have been glad to remain
+in communication with him, but had hitherto lacked the right excuse for
+troubling so busy a man.  Their long nocturnal talk came back to him in
+every detail, but this was no bar to an expression of proper sympathy
+with the head of the profession, for hadn’t that very talk made it clear
+that the late accomplished lady was the influence that ruled his life?
+What catastrophe could be more cruel than the extinction of such an
+influence?  This was to be exactly the tone taken by St. George in
+answering his young friend upwards of a month later.  He made no allusion
+of course to their important discussion.  He spoke of his wife as frankly
+and generously as if he had quite forgotten that occasion, and the
+feeling of deep bereavement was visible in his words.  “She took
+everything off my hands—off my mind.  She carried on our life with the
+greatest art, the rarest devotion, and I was free, as few men can have
+been, to drive my pen, to shut myself up with my trade.  This was a rare
+service—the highest she could have rendered me.  Would I could have
+acknowledged it more fitly!”
+
+A certain bewilderment, for our hero, disengaged itself from these
+remarks: they struck him as a contradiction, a retractation, strange on
+the part of a man who hadn’t the excuse of witlessness.  He had certainly
+not expected his correspondent to rejoice in the death of his wife, and
+it was perfectly in order that the rupture of a tie of more than twenty
+years should have left him sore.  But if she had been so clear a blessing
+what in the name of consistency had the dear man meant by turning him
+upside down that night—by dosing him to that degree, at the most
+sensitive hour of his life, with the doctrine of renunciation?  If Mrs.
+St. George was an irreparable loss, then her husband’s inspired advice
+had been a bad joke and renunciation was a mistake.  Overt was on the
+point of rushing back to London to show that, for his part, he was
+perfectly willing to consider it so, and he went so far as to take the
+manuscript of the first chapters of his new book out of his table-drawer,
+to insert it into a pocket of his portmanteau.  This led to his catching
+a glimpse of certain pages he hadn’t looked at for months, and that
+accident, in turn, to his being struck with the high promise they
+revealed—a rare result of such retrospections, which it was his habit to
+avoid as much as possible: they usually brought home to him that the glow
+of composition might be a purely subjective and misleading emotion.  On
+this occasion a certain belief in himself disengaged itself whimsically
+from the serried erasures of his first draft, making him think it best
+after all to pursue his present trial to the end.  If he could write as
+well under the rigour of privation it might be a mistake to change the
+conditions before that spell had spent itself.  He would go back to
+London of course, but he would go back only when he should have finished
+his book.  This was the vow he privately made, restoring his manuscript
+to the table-drawer.  It may be added that it took him a long time to
+finish his book, for the subject was as difficult as it was fine, and he
+was literally embarrassed by the fulness of his notes.  Something within
+him warned him that he must make it supremely good—otherwise he should
+lack, as regards his private behaviour, a handsome excuse.  He had a
+horror of this deficiency and found himself as firm as need be on the
+question of the lamp and the file.  He crossed the Alps at last and spent
+the winter, the spring, the ensuing summer, in Italy, where still, at the
+end of a twelvemonth, his task was unachieved.  “Stick to it—see it
+through”: this general injunction of St. George’s was good also for the
+particular case.  He applied it to the utmost, with the result that when
+in its slow order the summer had come round again he felt he had given
+all that was in him.  This time he put his papers into his portmanteau,
+with the address of his publisher attached, and took his way northward.
+
+He had been absent from London for two years—two years which, seeming to
+count as more, had made such a difference in his own life—through the
+production of a novel far stronger, he believed, than “Ginistrella”—that
+he turned out into Piccadilly, the morning after his arrival, with a
+vague expectation of changes, of finding great things had happened.  But
+there were few transformations in Piccadilly—only three or four big red
+houses where there had been low black ones—and the brightness of the end
+of June peeped through the rusty railings of the Green Park and glittered
+in the varnish of the rolling carriages as he had seen it in other, more
+cursory Junes.  It was a greeting he appreciated; it seemed friendly and
+pointed, added to the exhilaration of his finished book, of his having
+his own country and the huge oppressive amusing city that suggested
+everything, that contained everything, under his hand again.  “Stay at
+home and do things here—do subjects we can measure,” St. George had said;
+and now it struck him he should ask nothing better than to stay at home
+for ever.  Late in the afternoon he took his way to Manchester Square,
+looking out for a number he hadn’t forgotten.  Miss Fancourt, however,
+was not at home, so that he turned rather dejectedly from the door.  His
+movement brought him face to face with a gentleman just approaching it
+and recognised on another glance as Miss Fancourt’s father.  Paul saluted
+this personage, and the General returned the greeting with his customary
+good manner—a manner so good, however, that you could never tell whether
+it meant he placed you.  The disappointed caller felt the impulse to
+address him; then, hesitating, became both aware of having no particular
+remark to make, and convinced that though the old soldier remembered him
+he remembered him wrong.  He therefore went his way without computing the
+irresistible effect his own evident recognition would have on the
+General, who never neglected a chance to gossip.  Our young man’s face
+was expressive, and observation seldom let it pass.  He hadn’t taken ten
+steps before he heard himself called after with a friendly
+semi-articulate “Er—I beg your pardon!”  He turned round and the General,
+smiling at him from the porch, said: “Won’t you come in?  I won’t leave
+you the advantage of me!”  Paul declined to come in, and then felt
+regret, for Miss Fancourt, so late in the afternoon, might return at any
+moment.  But her father gave him no second chance; he appeared mainly to
+wish not to have struck him as ungracious.  A further look at the visitor
+had recalled something, enough at least to enable him to say: “You’ve
+come back, you’ve come back?”  Paul was on the point of replying that he
+had come back the night before, but he suppressed, the next instant, this
+strong light on the immediacy of his visit and, giving merely a general
+assent, alluded to the young lady he deplored not having found.  He had
+come late in the hope she would be in.  “I’ll tell her—I’ll tell her,”
+said the old man; and then he added quickly, gallantly: “You’ll be giving
+us something new?  It’s a long time, isn’t it?”  Now he remembered him
+right.
+
+“Rather long.  I’m very slow.” Paul explained.  “I met you at Summersoft
+a long time ago.”
+
+“Oh yes—with Henry St. George.  I remember very well.  Before his poor
+wife—” General Fancourt paused a moment, smiling a little less.  “I dare
+say you know.”
+
+“About Mrs. St. George’s death?  Certainly—I heard at the time.”
+
+“Oh no, I mean—I mean he’s to be married.”
+
+“Ah I’ve not heard that!”  But just as Paul was about to add “To whom?”
+the General crossed his intention.
+
+“When did you come back?  I know you’ve been away—by my daughter.  She
+was very sorry.  You ought to give her something new.”
+
+“I came back last night,” said our young man, to whom something had
+occurred which made his speech for the moment a little thick.
+
+“Ah most kind of you to come so soon.  Couldn’t you turn up at dinner?”
+
+“At dinner?” Paul just mechanically repeated, not liking to ask whom St.
+George was going to marry, but thinking only of that.
+
+“There are several people, I believe.  Certainly St. George.  Or
+afterwards if you like better.  I believe my daughter expects—”  He
+appeared to notice something in the visitor’s raised face (on his steps
+he stood higher) which led him to interrupt himself, and the interruption
+gave him a momentary sense of awkwardness, from which he sought a quick
+issue.  “Perhaps then you haven’t heard she’s to be married.”
+
+Paul gaped again.  “To be married?”
+
+“To Mr. St. George—it has just been settled.  Odd marriage, isn’t it?”
+Our listener uttered no opinion on this point: he only continued to
+stare.  “But I dare say it will do—she’s so awfully literary!” said the
+General.
+
+Paul had turned very red.  “Oh it’s a surprise—very interesting, very
+charming!  I’m afraid I can’t dine—so many thanks!”
+
+“Well, you must come to the wedding!” cried the General.  “Oh I remember
+that day at Summersoft.  He’s a great man, you know.”
+
+“Charming—charming!” Paul stammered for retreat.  He shook hands with the
+General and got off.  His face was red and he had the sense of its
+growing more and more crimson.  All the evening at home—he went straight
+to his rooms and remained there dinnerless—his cheek burned at intervals
+as if it had been smitten.  He didn’t understand what had happened to
+him, what trick had been played him, what treachery practised.  “None,
+none,” he said to himself.  “I’ve nothing to do with it.  I’m out of
+it—it’s none of my business.”  But that bewildered murmur was followed
+again and again by the incongruous ejaculation: “Was it a plan—was it a
+plan?”  Sometimes he cried to himself, breathless, “Have I been duped,
+sold, swindled?”  If at all, he was an absurd, an abject victim.  It was
+as if he hadn’t lost her till now.  He had renounced her, yes; but that
+was another affair—that was a closed but not a locked door.  Now he
+seemed to see the door quite slammed in his face.  Did he expect her to
+wait—was she to give him his time like that: two years at a stretch?  He
+didn’t know what he had expected—he only knew what he hadn’t.  It wasn’t
+this—it wasn’t this.  Mystification bitterness and wrath rose and boiled
+in him when he thought of the deference, the devotion, the credulity with
+which he had listened to St. George.  The evening wore on and the light
+was long; but even when it had darkened he remained without a lamp.  He
+had flung himself on the sofa, where he lay through the hours with his
+eyes either closed or gazing at the gloom, in the attitude of a man
+teaching himself to bear something, to bear having been made a fool of.
+He had made it too easy—that idea passed over him like a hot wave.
+Suddenly, as he heard eleven o’clock strike, he jumped up, remembering
+what General Fancourt had said about his coming after dinner.  He’d
+go—he’d see her at least; perhaps he should see what it meant.  He felt
+as if some of the elements of a hard sum had been given him and the
+others were wanting: he couldn’t do his sum till he had got all his
+figures.
+
+He dressed and drove quickly, so that by half-past eleven he was at
+Manchester Square.  There were a good many carriages at the door—a party
+was going on; a circumstance which at the last gave him a slight relief,
+for now he would rather see her in a crowd.  People passed him on the
+staircase; they were going away, going “on” with the hunted herdlike
+movement of London society at night.  But sundry groups remained in the
+drawing-room, and it was some minutes, as she didn’t hear him announced,
+before he discovered and spoke to her.  In this short interval he had
+seen St. George talking to a lady before the fireplace; but he at once
+looked away, feeling unready for an encounter, and therefore couldn’t be
+sure the author of “Shadowmere” noticed him.  At all events he didn’t
+come over though Miss Fancourt did as soon as she saw him—she almost
+rushed at him, smiling rustling radiant beautiful.  He had forgotten what
+her head, what her face offered to the sight; she was in white, there
+were gold figures on her dress and her hair was a casque of gold.  He saw
+in a single moment that she was happy, happy with an aggressive
+splendour.  But she wouldn’t speak to him of that, she would speak only
+of himself.
+
+“I’m so delighted; my father told me.  How kind of you to come!”  She
+struck him as so fresh and brave, while his eyes moved over her, that he
+said to himself irresistibly: “Why to him, why not to youth, to strength,
+to ambition, to a future?  Why, in her rich young force, to failure, to
+abdication to superannuation?”  In his thought at that sharp moment he
+blasphemed even against all that had been left of his faith in the
+peccable Master.  “I’m so sorry I missed you,” she went on.  “My father
+told me.  How charming of you to have come so soon!”
+
+“Does that surprise you?” Paul Overt asked.
+
+“The first day?  No, from you—nothing that’s nice.”  She was interrupted
+by a lady who bade her good-night, and he seemed to read that it cost her
+nothing to speak to him in that tone; it was her old liberal lavish way,
+with a certain added amplitude that time had brought; and if this manner
+began to operate on the spot, at such a juncture in her history, perhaps
+in the other days too it had meant just as little or as much—a mere
+mechanical charity, with the difference now that she was satisfied, ready
+to give but in want of nothing.  Oh she was satisfied—and why shouldn’t
+she be?  Why shouldn’t she have been surprised at his coming the first
+day—for all the good she had ever got from him?  As the lady continued to
+hold her attention Paul turned from her with a strange irritation in his
+complicated artistic soul and a sort of disinterested disappointment.
+She was so happy that it was almost stupid—a disproof of the
+extraordinary intelligence he had formerly found in her.  Didn’t she know
+how bad St. George could be, hadn’t she recognised the awful thinness—?
+If she didn’t she was nothing, and if she did why such an insolence of
+serenity?  This question expired as our young man’s eyes settled at last
+on the genius who had advised him in a great crisis.  St. George was
+still before the chimney-piece, but now he was alone—fixed, waiting, as
+if he meant to stop after every one—and he met the clouded gaze of the
+young friend so troubled as to the degree of his right (the right his
+resentment would have enjoyed) to regard himself as a victim.  Somehow
+the ravage of the question was checked by the Master’s radiance.  It was
+as fine in its way as Marian Fancourt’s, it denoted the happy human
+being; but also it represented to Paul Overt that the author of
+“Shadowmere” had now definitely ceased to count—ceased to count as a
+writer.  As he smiled a welcome across the place he was almost banal, was
+almost smug.  Paul fancied that for a moment he hesitated to make a
+movement, as if for all the world he _had_ his bad conscience; then they
+had already met in the middle of the room and had shaken
+hands—expressively, cordially on St. George’s part.  With which they had
+passed back together to where the elder man had been standing, while St.
+George said: “I hope you’re never going away again.  I’ve been dining
+here; the General told me.”  He was handsome, he was young, he looked as
+if he had still a great fund of life.  He bent the friendliest, most
+unconfessing eyes on his disciple of a couple of years before; asked him
+about everything, his health, his plans, his late occupations, the new
+book.  “When will it be out—soon, soon, I hope?  Splendid, eh?  That’s
+right; you’re a comfort, you’re a luxury!  I’ve read you all over again
+these last six months.”  Paul waited to see if he would tell him what the
+General had told him in the afternoon and what Miss Fancourt, verbally at
+least, of course hadn’t.  But as it didn’t come out he at last put the
+question.
+
+“Is it true, the great news I hear—that you’re to be married?”
+
+“Ah you have heard it then?”
+
+“Didn’t the General tell you?” Paul asked.
+
+The Master’s face was wonderful.  “Tell me what?”
+
+“That he mentioned it to me this afternoon?”
+
+“My dear fellow, I don’t remember.  We’ve been in the midst of people.
+I’m sorry, in that case, that I lose the pleasure, myself, of announcing
+to you a fact that touches me so nearly.  It _is_ a fact, strange as it
+may appear.  It has only just become one.  Isn’t it ridiculous?”  St.
+George made this speech without confusion, but on the other hand, so far
+as our friend could judge, without latent impudence.  It struck his
+interlocutor that, to talk so comfortably and coolly, he must simply have
+forgotten what had passed between them.  His next words, however, showed
+he hadn’t, and they produced, as an appeal to Paul’s own memory, an
+effect which would have been ludicrous if it hadn’t been cruel.  “Do you
+recall the talk we had at my house that night, into which Miss Fancourt’s
+name entered?  I’ve often thought of it since.”
+
+“Yes; no wonder you said what you did”—Paul was careful to meet his eyes.
+
+“In the light of the present occasion?  Ah but there was no light then.
+How could I have foreseen this hour?”
+
+“Didn’t you think it probable?”
+
+“Upon my honour, no,” said Henry St. George.  “Certainly I owe you that
+assurance.  Think how my situation has changed.”
+
+“I see—I see,” our young man murmured.
+
+His companion went on as if, now that the subject had been broached, he
+was, as a person of imagination and tact, quite ready to give every
+satisfaction—being both by his genius and his method so able to enter
+into everything another might feel.  “But it’s not only that; for
+honestly, at my age, I never dreamed—a widower with big boys and with so
+little else!  It has turned out differently from anything one could have
+dreamed, and I’m fortunate beyond all measure.  She has been so free, and
+yet she consents.  Better than any one else perhaps—for I remember how
+you liked her before you went away, and how she liked you—you can
+intelligently congratulate me.”
+
+“She has been so free!”  Those words made a great impression on Paul
+Overt, and he almost writhed under that irony in them as to which it so
+little mattered whether it was designed or casual.  Of course she had
+been free, and appreciably perhaps by his own act; for wasn’t the
+Master’s allusion to her having liked him a part of the irony too?  “I
+thought that by your theory you disapproved of a writer’s marrying.”
+
+“Surely—surely.  But you don’t call me a writer?”
+
+“You ought to be ashamed,” said Paul.
+
+“Ashamed of marrying again?”
+
+“I won’t say that—but ashamed of your reasons.”
+
+The elder man beautifully smiled.  “You must let me judge of them, my
+good friend.”
+
+“Yes; why not?  For you judged wonderfully of mine.”
+
+The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for St. George, to suggest the
+unsuspected.  He stared as if divining a bitterness.  “Don’t you think
+I’ve been straight?”
+
+“You might have told me at the time perhaps.”
+
+“My dear fellow, when I say I couldn’t pierce futurity—!”
+
+“I mean afterwards.”
+
+The Master wondered.  “After my wife’s death?”
+
+“When this idea came to you.”
+
+“Ah never, never!  I wanted to save you, rare and precious as you are.”
+
+Poor Overt looked hard at him.  “Are you marrying Miss Fancourt to save
+me?”
+
+“Not absolutely, but it adds to the pleasure.  I shall be the making of
+you,” St. George smiled.  “I was greatly struck, after our talk, with the
+brave devoted way you quitted the country, and still more perhaps with
+your force of character in remaining abroad.  You’re very strong—you’re
+wonderfully strong.”
+
+Paul tried to sound his shining eyes; the strange thing was that he
+seemed sincere—not a mocking fiend.  He turned away, and as he did so
+heard the Master say something about his giving them all the proof, being
+the joy of his old age.  He faced him again, taking another look.  “Do
+you mean to say you’ve stopped writing?”
+
+“My dear fellow, of course I have.  It’s too late.  Didn’t I tell you?”
+
+“I can’t believe it!”
+
+“Of course you can’t—with your own talent!  No, no; for the rest of my
+life I shall only read _you_.”
+
+“Does she know that—Miss Fancourt?”
+
+“She will—she will.”  Did he mean this, our young man wondered, as a
+covert intimation that the assistance he should derive from that young
+lady’s fortune, moderate as it was, would make the difference of putting
+it in his power to cease to work ungratefully an exhausted vein?
+Somehow, standing there in the ripeness of his successful manhood, he
+didn’t suggest that any of his veins were exhausted.  “Don’t you remember
+the moral I offered myself to you that night as pointing?” St. George
+continued.  “Consider at any rate the warning I am at present.”
+
+This was too much—he _was_ the mocking fiend.  Paul turned from him with
+a mere nod for good-night and the sense in a sore heart that he might
+come back to him and his easy grace, his fine way of arranging things,
+some time in the far future, but couldn’t fraternise with him now.  It
+was necessary to his soreness to believe for the hour in the intensity of
+his grievance—all the more cruel for its not being a legal one.  It was
+doubtless in the attitude of hugging this wrong that he descended the
+stairs without taking leave of Miss Fancourt, who hadn’t been in view at
+the moment he quitted the room.  He was glad to get out into the honest
+dusky unsophisticating night, to move fast, to take his way home on foot.
+He walked a long time, going astray, paying no attention.  He was
+thinking of too many other things.  His steps recovered their direction,
+however, and at the end of an hour he found himself before his door in
+the small inexpensive empty street.  He lingered, questioning himself
+still before going in, with nothing around and above him but moonless
+blackness, a bad lamp or two and a few far-away dim stars.  To these last
+faint features he raised his eyes; he had been saying to himself that he
+should have been “sold” indeed, diabolically sold, if now, on his new
+foundation, at the end of a year, St. George were to put forth something
+of his prime quality—something of the type of “Shadowmere” and finer than
+his finest.  Greatly as he admired his talent Paul literally hoped such
+an incident wouldn’t occur; it seemed to him just then that he shouldn’t
+be able to bear it.  His late adviser’s words were still in his
+ears—“You’re very strong, wonderfully strong.”  Was he really?  Certainly
+he would have to be, and it might a little serve for revenge.  _Is_ he?
+the reader may ask in turn, if his interest has followed the perplexed
+young man so far.  The best answer to that perhaps is that he’s doing his
+best, but that it’s too soon to say.  When the new book came out in the
+autumn Mr. and Mrs. St. George found it really magnificent.  The former
+still has published nothing but Paul doesn’t even yet feel safe.  I may
+say for him, however, that if this event were to occur he would really be
+the very first to appreciate it: which is perhaps a proof that the Master
+was essentially right and that Nature had dedicated him to intellectual,
+not to personal passion.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LESSON OF THE MASTER***
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+
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lesson of the Master, by Henry James
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions 
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at 
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Lesson of the Master
+
+
+Author: Henry James
+
+
+
+Release Date: February 28, 2015  [eBook #898]
+[This file was first posted on May 1, 1997]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LESSON OF THE MASTER***
+</pre>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David
+Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/coverb.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Book cover"
+title=
+"Book cover"
+ src="images/covers.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h1>THE LESSON OF<br />
+THE MASTER</h1>
+<p style="text-align: center">BY HENRY JAMES</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/tpb.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Decorative graphic"
+title=
+"Decorative graphic"
+ src="images/tps.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center">LONDON: MARTIN SECKER<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI</span></p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">This edition
+first printed 1915</span></p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<h2><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>I</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">He</span> had been told the ladies were at
+church, but this was corrected by what he saw from the top of the
+steps&mdash;they descended from a great height in two arms, with
+a circular sweep of the most charming effect&mdash;at the
+threshold of the door which, from the long bright gallery,
+overlooked the immense lawn.&nbsp; Three gentlemen, on the grass,
+at a distance, sat under the great trees, while the fourth figure
+showed a crimson dress that told as a &ldquo;bit of colour&rdquo;
+amid the fresh rich green.&nbsp; The servant had so far
+accompanied Paul Overt as to introduce him to this view, after
+asking him if he wished first to go to his room.&nbsp; The young
+man declined that privilege, conscious of no disrepair from so
+short and easy a journey and always liking to take at once a
+general perceptive possession of a new scene.&nbsp; He stood
+there a little with his eyes on the group and on the admirable
+picture, the wide grounds of an old country-house near
+London&mdash;that only made it better&mdash;on a splendid Sunday
+in June.&nbsp; &ldquo;But that lady, who&rsquo;s
+<i>she</i>?&rdquo; he said to the servant before the man left
+him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think she&rsquo;s Mrs. St. George, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mrs. St. George, the wife of the
+distinguished&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp; Then Paul Overt checked
+himself, doubting if a footman would know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir&mdash;probably, sir,&rdquo; said his guide,
+who appeared to wish to intimate that a person staying at
+Summersoft would naturally be, if only by alliance,
+distinguished.&nbsp; His tone, however, made poor Overt himself
+feel for the moment scantly so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the gentlemen?&rdquo; Overt went on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, one of them&rsquo;s General
+Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes, I know; thank you.&rdquo;&nbsp; General
+Fancourt was distinguished, there was no doubt of that, for
+something he had done, or perhaps even hadn&rsquo;t
+done&mdash;the young man couldn&rsquo;t remember which&mdash;some
+years before in India.&nbsp; The servant went away, leaving the
+glass doors open into the gallery, and Paul Overt remained at the
+head of the wide double staircase, saying to himself that the
+place was sweet and promised a pleasant visit, while he leaned on
+the balustrade of fine old ironwork which, like all the other
+details, was of the same period as the house.&nbsp; It all went
+together and spoke in one voice&mdash;a rich English voice of the
+early part of the eighteenth century.&nbsp; It might have been
+church-time on a summer&rsquo;s day in the reign of Queen Anne;
+the stillness was too perfect to be modern, the nearness counted
+so as distance, and there was something so fresh and sound in the
+originality of the large smooth house, the expanse of beautiful
+brickwork that showed for pink rather than red and that had been
+kept clear of messy creepers by the law under which a woman with
+a rare complexion disdains a veil.&nbsp; When Paul Overt became
+aware that the people under the trees had noticed him he turned
+back through the open doors into the great gallery which was the
+pride of the place.&nbsp; It marched across from end to end and
+seemed&mdash;with its bright colours, its high panelled windows,
+its faded flowered chintzes, its quickly-recognised portraits and
+pictures, the blue-and-white china of its cabinets and the
+attenuated festoons and rosettes of its ceiling&mdash;a cheerful
+upholstered avenue into the other century.</p>
+<p>Our friend was slightly nervous; that went with his character
+as a student of fine prose, went with the artist&rsquo;s general
+disposition to vibrate; and there was a particular thrill in the
+idea that Henry St. George might be a member of the party.&nbsp;
+For the young aspirant he had remained a high literary figure, in
+spite of the lower range of production to which he had fallen
+after his first three great successes, the comparative absence of
+quality in his later work.&nbsp; There had been moments when Paul
+Overt almost shed tears for this; but now that he was near
+him&mdash;he had never met him&mdash;he was conscious only of the
+fine original source and of his own immense debt.&nbsp; After he
+had taken a turn or two up and down the gallery he came out again
+and descended the steps.&nbsp; He was but slenderly supplied with
+a certain social boldness&mdash;it was really a weakness in
+him&mdash;so that, conscious of a want of acquaintance with the
+four persons in the distance, he gave way to motions recommended
+by their not committing him to a positive approach.&nbsp; There
+was a fine English awkwardness in this&mdash;he felt that too as
+he sauntered vaguely and obliquely across the lawn, taking an
+independent line.&nbsp; Fortunately there was an equally fine
+English directness in the way one of the gentlemen presently rose
+and made as if to &ldquo;stalk&rdquo; him, though with an air of
+conciliation and reassurance.&nbsp; To this demonstration Paul
+Overt instantly responded, even if the gentleman were not his
+host.&nbsp; He was tall, straight and elderly and had, like the
+great house itself, a pink smiling face, and into the bargain a
+white moustache.&nbsp; Our young man met him halfway while he
+laughed and said: &ldquo;Er&mdash;Lady Watermouth told us you
+were coming; she asked me just to look after you.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Paul Overt thanked him, liking him on the spot, and turned round
+with him to walk toward the others.&nbsp; &ldquo;They&rsquo;ve
+all gone to church&mdash;all except us,&rdquo; the stranger
+continued as they went; &ldquo;we&rsquo;re just sitting
+here&mdash;it&rsquo;s so jolly.&rdquo;&nbsp; Overt pronounced it
+jolly indeed: it was such a lovely place.&nbsp; He mentioned that
+he was having the charming impression for the first time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you&rsquo;ve not been here before?&rdquo; said his
+companion.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a nice little place&mdash;not
+much to <i>do</i>, you know&rdquo;.&nbsp; Overt wondered what he
+wanted to &ldquo;do&rdquo;&mdash;he felt that he himself was
+doing so much.&nbsp; By the time they came to where the others
+sat he had recognised his initiator for a military man
+and&mdash;such was the turn of Overt&rsquo;s
+imagination&mdash;had found him thus still more
+sympathetic.&nbsp; He would naturally have a need for action, for
+deeds at variance with the pacific pastoral scene.&nbsp; He was
+evidently so good-natured, however, that he accepted the
+inglorious hour for what it was worth.&nbsp; Paul Overt shared it
+with him and with his companions for the next twenty minutes; the
+latter looked at him and he looked at them without knowing much
+who they were, while the talk went on without much telling him
+even what it meant.&nbsp; It seemed indeed to mean nothing in
+particular; it wandered, with casual pointless pauses and short
+terrestrial flights, amid names of persons and places&mdash;names
+which, for our friend, had no great power of evocation.&nbsp; It
+was all sociable and slow, as was right and natural of a warm
+Sunday morning.</p>
+<p>His first attention was given to the question, privately
+considered, of whether one of the two younger men would be Henry
+St. George.&nbsp; He knew many of his distinguished
+contemporaries by their photographs, but had never, as happened,
+seen a portrait of the great misguided novelist.&nbsp; One of the
+gentlemen was unimaginable&mdash;he was too young; and the other
+scarcely looked clever enough, with such mild undiscriminating
+eyes.&nbsp; If those eyes were St. George&rsquo;s the problem,
+presented by the ill-matched parts of his genius would be still
+more difficult of solution.&nbsp; Besides, the deportment of
+their proprietor was not, as regards the lady in the red dress,
+such as could be natural, toward the wife of his bosom, even to a
+writer accused by several critics of sacrificing too much to
+manner.&nbsp; Lastly Paul Overt had a vague sense that if the
+gentleman with the expressionless eyes bore the name that had set
+his heart beating faster (he also had contradictory conventional
+whiskers&mdash;the young admirer of the celebrity had never in a
+mental vision seen <i>his</i> face in so vulgar a frame) he would
+have given him a sign of recognition or of friendliness, would
+have heard of him a little, would know something about
+&ldquo;Ginistrella,&rdquo; would have an impression of how that
+fresh fiction had caught the eye of real criticism.&nbsp; Paul
+Overt had a dread of being grossly proud, but even morbid modesty
+might view the authorship of &ldquo;Ginistrella&rdquo; as
+constituting a degree of identity.&nbsp; His soldierly friend
+became clear enough: he was &ldquo;Fancourt,&rdquo; but was also
+&ldquo;the General&rdquo;; and he mentioned to the new visitor in
+the course of a few moments that he had but lately returned from
+twenty years service abroad.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now you remain in England?&rdquo; the young man
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes; I&rsquo;ve bought a small house in
+London.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I hope you like it,&rdquo; said Overt, looking at
+Mrs. St. George.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, a little house in Manchester
+Square&mdash;there&rsquo;s a limit to the enthusiasm <i>that</i>
+inspires.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I meant being at home again&mdash;being back in
+Piccadilly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My daughter likes Piccadilly&mdash;that&rsquo;s the
+main thing.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s very fond of art and music and
+literature and all that kind of thing.&nbsp; She missed it in
+India and she finds it in London, or she hopes she&rsquo;ll find
+it.&nbsp; Mr. St. George has promised to help her&mdash;he has
+been awfully kind to her.&nbsp; She has gone to
+church&mdash;she&rsquo;s fond of that too&mdash;but they&rsquo;ll
+all be back in a quarter of an hour.&nbsp; You must let me
+introduce you to her&mdash;she&rsquo;ll be so glad to know
+you.&nbsp; I dare say she has read every blest word you&rsquo;ve
+written.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall be delighted&mdash;I haven&rsquo;t written so
+very many,&rdquo; Overt pleaded, feeling, and without resentment,
+that the General at least was vagueness itself about that.&nbsp;
+But he wondered a little why, expressing this friendly
+disposition, it didn&rsquo;t occur to the doubtless eminent
+soldier to pronounce the word that would put him in relation with
+Mrs. St. George.&nbsp; If it was a question of introductions Miss
+Fancourt&mdash;apparently as yet unmarried&mdash;was far away,
+while the wife of his illustrious confr&egrave;re was almost
+between them.&nbsp; This lady struck Paul Overt as altogether
+pretty, with a surprising juvenility and a high smartness of
+aspect, something that&mdash;he could scarcely have said
+why&mdash;served for mystification.&nbsp; St. George certainly
+had every right to a charming wife, but he himself would never
+have imagined the important little woman in the aggressively
+Parisian dress the partner for life, the alter ego, of a man of
+letters.&nbsp; That partner in general, he knew, that second
+self, was far from presenting herself in a single type:
+observation had taught him that she was not inveterately, not
+necessarily plain.&nbsp; But he had never before seen her look so
+much as if her prosperity had deeper foundations than an
+ink-spotted study-table littered with proof-sheets.&nbsp; Mrs.
+St. George might have been the wife of a gentleman who
+&ldquo;kept&rdquo; books rather than wrote them, who carried on
+great affairs in the City and made better bargains than those
+that poets mostly make with publishers.&nbsp; With this she
+hinted at a success more personal&mdash;a success peculiarly
+stamping the age in which society, the world of conversation, is
+a great drawing-room with the City for its antechamber.&nbsp;
+Overt numbered her years at first as some thirty, and then ended
+by believing that she might approach her fiftieth.&nbsp; But she
+somehow in this case juggled away the excess and the
+difference&mdash;you only saw them in a rare glimpse, like the
+rabbit in the conjurer&rsquo;s sleeve.&nbsp; She was
+extraordinarily white, and her every element and item was pretty;
+her eyes, her ears, her hair, her voice, her hands, her
+feet&mdash;to which her relaxed attitude in her wicker chair gave
+a great publicity&mdash;and the numerous ribbons and trinkets
+with which she was bedecked.&nbsp; She looked as if she had put
+on her best clothes to go to church and then had decided they
+were too good for that and had stayed at home.&nbsp; She told a
+story of some length about the shabby way Lady Jane had treated
+the Duchess, as well as an anecdote in relation to a purchase she
+had made in Paris&mdash;on her way back from Cannes; made for
+Lady Egbert, who had never refunded the money.&nbsp; Paul Overt
+suspected her of a tendency to figure great people as larger than
+life, until he noticed the manner in which she handled Lady
+Egbert, which was so sharply mutinous that it reassured
+him.&nbsp; He felt he should have understood her better if he
+might have met her eye; but she scarcely so much as glanced at
+him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah here they come&mdash;all the good
+ones!&rdquo; she said at last; and Paul Overt admired at his
+distance the return of the church-goers&mdash;several persons, in
+couples and threes, advancing in a flicker of sun and shade at
+the end of a large green vista formed by the level grass and the
+overarching boughs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you mean to imply that <i>we&rsquo;re</i> bad, I
+protest,&rdquo; said one of the gentlemen&mdash;&ldquo;after
+making one&rsquo;s self agreeable all the morning!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah if they&rsquo;ve found you agreeable&mdash;!&rdquo;
+Mrs. St. George gaily cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;But if we&rsquo;re good
+the others are better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They must be angels then,&rdquo; said the amused
+General.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your husband was an angel, the way he went off at your
+bidding,&rdquo; the gentleman who had first spoken declared to
+Mrs. St. George.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At my bidding?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you make him go to church?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never made him do anything in my life but
+once&mdash;when I made him burn up a bad book.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+all!&rdquo;&nbsp; At her &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all!&rdquo; our
+young friend broke into an irrepressible laugh; it lasted only a
+second, but it drew her eyes to him.&nbsp; His own met them,
+though not long enough to help him to understand her; unless it
+were a step towards this that he saw on the instant how the burnt
+book&mdash;the way she alluded to it!&mdash;would have been one
+of her husband&rsquo;s finest things.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bad book?&rdquo; her interlocutor repeated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t like it.&nbsp; He went to church because
+your daughter went,&rdquo; she continued to General
+Fancourt.&nbsp; &ldquo;I think it my duty to call your attention
+to his extraordinary demonstrations to your daughter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, if you don&rsquo;t mind them I
+don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; the General laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Il s&rsquo;attache &agrave; ses pas.&nbsp; But I
+don&rsquo;t wonder&mdash;she&rsquo;s so charming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope she won&rsquo;t make him burn any books!&rdquo;
+Paul Overt ventured to exclaim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If she&rsquo;d make him write a few it would be more to
+the purpose,&rdquo; said Mrs. St. George.&nbsp; &ldquo;He has
+been of a laziness of late&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our young man stared&mdash;he was so struck with the
+lady&rsquo;s phraseology.&nbsp; Her &ldquo;Write a few&rdquo;
+seemed to him almost as good as her &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+all.&rdquo;&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t she, as the wife of a rare artist,
+know what it was to produce one perfect work of art?&nbsp; How in
+the world did she think they were turned on?&nbsp; His private
+conviction was that, admirably as Henry St. George wrote, he had
+written for the last ten years, and especially for the last five,
+only too much, and there was an instant during which he felt
+inwardly solicited to make this public.&nbsp; But before he had
+spoken a diversion was effected by the return of the
+absentees.&nbsp; They strolled up dispersedly&mdash;there were
+eight or ten of them&mdash;and the circle under the trees
+rearranged itself as they took their place in it.&nbsp; They made
+it much larger, so that Paul Overt could feel&mdash;he was always
+feeling that sort of thing, as he said to himself&mdash;that if
+the company had already been interesting to watch the interest
+would now become intense.&nbsp; He shook hands with his hostess,
+who welcomed him without many words, in the manner of a woman
+able to trust him to understand and conscious that so pleasant an
+occasion would in every way speak for itself.&nbsp; She offered
+him no particular facility for sitting by her, and when they had
+all subsided again he found himself still next General Fancourt,
+with an unknown lady on his other flank.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my daughter&mdash;that one
+opposite,&rdquo; the General said to him without lose of
+time.&nbsp; Overt saw a tall girl, with magnificent red hair, in
+a dress of a pretty grey-green tint and of a limp silken texture,
+a garment that clearly shirked every modern effect.&nbsp; It had
+therefore somehow the stamp of the latest thing, so that our
+beholder quickly took her for nothing if not contemporaneous.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s very handsome&mdash;very handsome,&rdquo;
+he repeated while he considered her.&nbsp; There was something
+noble in her head, and she appeared fresh and strong.</p>
+<p>Her good father surveyed her with complacency, remarking soon:
+&ldquo;She looks too hot&mdash;that&rsquo;s her walk.&nbsp; But
+she&rsquo;ll be all right presently.&nbsp; Then I&rsquo;ll make
+her come over and speak to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should be sorry to give you that trouble.&nbsp; If
+you were to take me over <i>there</i>&mdash;!&rdquo; the young
+man murmured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear sir, do you suppose I put myself out that
+way?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t mean for you, but for Marian,&rdquo; the
+General added.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>I</i> would put myself out for her soon
+enough,&rdquo; Overt replied; after which he went on: &ldquo;Will
+you be so good as to tell me which of those gentlemen is Henry
+St. George?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The fellow talking to my girl.&nbsp; By Jove, he
+<i>is</i> making up to her&mdash;they&rsquo;re going off for
+another walk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah is that he&mdash;really?&rdquo;&nbsp; Our friend
+felt a certain surprise, for the personage before him seemed to
+trouble a vision which had been vague only while not confronted
+with the reality.&nbsp; As soon as the reality dawned the mental
+image, retiring with a sigh, became substantial enough to suffer
+a slight wrong.&nbsp; Overt, who had spent a considerable part of
+his short life in foreign lands, made now, but not for the first
+time, the reflexion that whereas in those countries he had almost
+always recognised the artist and the man of letters by his
+personal &ldquo;type,&rdquo; the mould of his face, the character
+of his head, the expression of his figure and even the
+indications of his dress, so in England this identification was
+as little as possible a matter of course, thanks to the greater
+conformity, the habit of sinking the profession instead of
+advertising it, the general diffusion of the air of the
+gentleman&mdash;the gentleman committed to no particular set of
+ideas.&nbsp; More than once, on returning to his own country, he
+had said to himself about people met in society: &ldquo;One sees
+them in this place and that, and one even talks with them; but to
+find out what they <i>do</i> one would really have to be a
+detective.&rdquo;&nbsp; In respect to several individuals whose
+work he was the opposite of &ldquo;drawn to&rdquo;&mdash;perhaps
+he was wrong&mdash;he found himself adding &ldquo;No wonder they
+conceal it&mdash;when it&rsquo;s so bad!&rdquo;&nbsp; He noted
+that oftener than in France and in Germany his artist looked like
+a gentleman&mdash;that is like an English one&mdash;while,
+certainly outside a few exceptions, his gentlemen didn&rsquo;t
+look like an artist.&nbsp; St. George was not one of the
+exceptions; that circumstance he definitely apprehended before
+the great man had turned his back to walk off with Miss
+Fancourt.&nbsp; He certainly looked better behind than any
+foreign man of letters&mdash;showed for beautifully correct in
+his tall black hat and his superior frock coat.&nbsp; Somehow,
+all the same, these very garments&mdash;he wouldn&rsquo;t have
+minded them so much on a weekday&mdash;were disconcerting to Paul
+Overt, who forgot for the moment that the head of the profession
+was not a bit better dressed than himself.&nbsp; He had caught a
+glimpse of a regular face, a fresh colour, a brown moustache and
+a pair of eyes surely never visited by a fine frenzy, and he
+promised himself to study these denotements on the first
+occasion.&nbsp; His superficial sense was that their owner might
+have passed for a lucky stockbroker&mdash;a gentleman driving
+eastward every morning from a sanitary suburb in a smart
+dog-cart.&nbsp; That carried out the impression already derived
+from his wife.&nbsp; Paul&rsquo;s glance, after a moment,
+travelled back to this lady, and he saw how her own had followed
+her husband as he moved off with Miss Fancourt.&nbsp; Overt
+permitted himself to wonder a little if she were jealous when
+another woman took him away.&nbsp; Then he made out that Mrs. St.
+George wasn&rsquo;t glaring at the indifferent maiden.&nbsp; Her
+eyes rested but on her husband, and with unmistakeable
+serenity.&nbsp; That was the way she wanted him to be&mdash;she
+liked his conventional uniform.&nbsp; Overt longed to hear more
+about the book she had induced him to destroy.</p>
+<h2><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+21</span>II</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">As</span> they all came out from luncheon
+General Fancourt took hold of him with an &ldquo;I say, I want
+you to know my girl!&rdquo; as if the idea had just occurred to
+him and he hadn&rsquo;t spoken of it before.&nbsp; With the other
+hand he possessed himself all paternally of the young lady.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You know all about him.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve seen you with his
+books.&nbsp; She reads everything&mdash;everything!&rdquo; he
+went on to Paul.&nbsp; The girl smiled at him and then laughed at
+her father.&nbsp; The General turned away and his daughter
+spoke&mdash;&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t papa delightful?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is indeed, Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As if I read you because I read
+&lsquo;everything&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I don&rsquo;t mean for saying that,&rdquo; said Paul
+Overt.&nbsp; &ldquo;I liked him from the moment he began to be
+kind to me.&nbsp; Then he promised me this privilege.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t for you he means it&mdash;it&rsquo;s for
+me.&nbsp; If you flatter yourself that he thinks of anything in
+life but me you&rsquo;ll find you&rsquo;re mistaken.&nbsp; He
+introduces every one.&nbsp; He thinks me insatiable.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You speak just like him,&rdquo; laughed our youth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah but sometimes I want to&rdquo;&mdash;and the girl
+coloured.&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t read everything&mdash;I read
+very little.&nbsp; But I <i>have</i> read you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Suppose we go into the gallery,&rdquo; said Paul
+Overt.&nbsp; She pleased him greatly, not so much because of this
+last remark&mdash;though that of course was not too
+disconcerting&mdash;as because, seated opposite to him at
+luncheon, she had given him for half an hour the impression of
+her beautiful face.&nbsp; Something else had come with it&mdash;a
+sense of generosity, of an enthusiasm which, unlike many
+enthusiasms, was not all manner.&nbsp; That was not spoiled for
+him by his seeing that the repast had placed her again in
+familiar contact with Henry St. George.&nbsp; Sitting next her
+this celebrity was also opposite our young man, who had been able
+to note that he multiplied the attentions lately brought by his
+wife to the General&rsquo;s notice.&nbsp; Paul Overt had gathered
+as well that this lady was not in the least discomposed by these
+fond excesses and that she gave every sign of an unclouded
+spirit.&nbsp; She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on the
+other the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new high-class
+lively evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt in
+circles increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made
+amusing, and unconvinced when assured by those of another
+political colour that it was already amusing enough.&nbsp; At the
+end of an hour spent in her company Paul Overt thought her still
+prettier than at the first radiation, and if her profane
+allusions to her husband&rsquo;s work had not still rung in his
+ears he should have liked her&mdash;so far as it could be a
+question of that in connexion with a woman to whom he had not yet
+spoken and to whom probably he should never speak if it were left
+to her.&nbsp; Pretty women were a clear need to this genius, and
+for the hour it was Miss Fancourt who supplied the want.&nbsp; If
+Overt had promised himself a closer view the occasion was now of
+the best, and it brought consequences felt by the young man as
+important.&nbsp; He saw more in St. George&rsquo;s face, which he
+liked the better for its not having told its whole story in the
+first three minutes.&nbsp; That story came out as one read, in
+short instalments&mdash;it was excusable that one&rsquo;s
+analogies should be somewhat professional&mdash;and the text was
+a style considerably involved, a language not easy to translate
+at sight.&nbsp; There were shades of meaning in it and a vague
+perspective of history which receded as you advanced.&nbsp; Two
+facts Paul had particularly heeded.&nbsp; The first of these was
+that he liked the measured mask much better at inscrutable rest
+than in social agitation; its almost convulsive smile above all
+displeased him (as much as any impression from that source
+could), whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in
+proportion as stillness settled again.&nbsp; The change to the
+expression of gaiety excited, he made out, very much the private
+protest of a person sitting gratefully in the twilight when the
+lamp is brought in too soon.&nbsp; His second reflexion was that,
+though generally averse to the flagrant use of ingratiating arts
+by a man of age &ldquo;making up&rdquo; to a pretty girl, he was
+not in this case too painfully affected: which seemed to prove
+either that St. George had a light hand or the air of being
+younger than he was, or else that Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s own
+manner somehow made everything right.</p>
+<p>Overt walked with her into the gallery, and they strolled to
+the end of it, looking at the pictures, the cabinets, the
+charming vista, which harmonised with the prospect of the summer
+afternoon, resembling it by a long brightness, with great divans
+and old chairs that figured hours of rest.&nbsp; Such a place as
+that had the added merit of giving those who came into it plenty
+to talk about.&nbsp; Miss Fancourt sat down with her new
+acquaintance on a flowered sofa, the cushions of which, very
+numerous, were tight ancient cubes of many sizes, and presently
+said: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m so glad to have a chance to thank
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To thank me&mdash;?&rdquo;&nbsp; He had to wonder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I liked your book so much.&nbsp; I think it
+splendid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sat there smiling at him, and he never asked himself which
+book she meant; for after all he had written three or four.&nbsp;
+That seemed a vulgar detail, and he wasn&rsquo;t even gratified
+by the idea of the pleasure she told him&mdash;her handsome
+bright face told him&mdash;he had given her.&nbsp; The feeling
+she appealed to, or at any rate the feeling she excited, was
+something larger, something that had little to do with any
+quickened pulsation of his own vanity.&nbsp; It was responsive
+admiration of the life she embodied, the young purity and
+richness of which appeared to imply that real success was to
+resemble <i>that</i>, to live, to bloom, to present the
+perfection of a fine type, not to have hammered out headachy
+fancies with a bent back at an ink-stained table.&nbsp; While her
+grey eyes rested on him&mdash;there was a wideish space between
+these, and the division of her rich-coloured hair, so thick that
+it ventured to be smooth, made a free arch above them&mdash;he
+was almost ashamed of that exercise of the pen which it was her
+present inclination to commend.&nbsp; He was conscious he should
+have liked better to please her in some other way.&nbsp; The
+lines of her face were those of a woman grown, but the child
+lingered on in her complexion and in the sweetness of her
+mouth.&nbsp; Above all she was natural&mdash;that was indubitable
+now; more natural than he had supposed at first, perhaps on
+account of her &aelig;sthetic toggery, which was conventionally
+unconventional, suggesting what he might have called a tortuous
+spontaneity.&nbsp; He had feared that sort of thing in other
+cases, and his fears had been justified; for, though he was an
+artist to the essence, the modern reactionary nymph, with the
+brambles of the woodland caught in her folds and a look as if the
+satyrs had toyed with her hair, made him shrink not as a man of
+starch and patent leather, but as a man potentially himself a
+poet or even a faun.&nbsp; The girl was really more candid than
+her costume, and the best proof of it was her supposing her
+liberal character suited by any uniform.&nbsp; This was a
+fallacy, since if she was draped as a pessimist he was sure she
+liked the taste of life.&nbsp; He thanked her for her
+appreciation&mdash;aware at the same time that he didn&rsquo;t
+appear to thank her enough and that she might think him
+ungracious.&nbsp; He was afraid she would ask him to explain
+something he had written, and he always winced at
+that&mdash;perhaps too timidly&mdash;for to his own ear the
+explanation of a work of art sounded fatuous.&nbsp; But he liked
+her so much as to feel a confidence that in the long run he
+should be able to show her he wasn&rsquo;t rudely evasive.&nbsp;
+Moreover she surely wasn&rsquo;t quick to take offence,
+wasn&rsquo;t irritable; she could be trusted to wait.&nbsp; So
+when he said to her, &ldquo;Ah don&rsquo;t talk of anything
+I&rsquo;ve done, don&rsquo;t talk of it <i>here</i>;
+there&rsquo;s another man in the house who&rsquo;s the
+actuality!&rdquo;&mdash;when he uttered this short sincere
+protest it was with the sense that she would see in the words
+neither mock humility nor the impatience of a successful man
+bored with praise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean Mr. St. George&mdash;isn&rsquo;t he
+delightful?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul Overt met her eyes, which had a cool morning-light that
+would have half-broken his heart if he hadn&rsquo;t been so
+young.&nbsp; &ldquo;Alas I don&rsquo;t know him.&nbsp; I only
+admire him at a distance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh you must know him&mdash;he wants so to talk to
+you,&rdquo; returned Miss Fancourt, who evidently had the habit
+of saying the things that, by her quick calculation, would give
+people pleasure.&nbsp; Paul saw how she would always calculate on
+everything&rsquo;s being simple between others.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t have supposed he knew anything about
+me,&rdquo; he professed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He does then&mdash;everything.&nbsp; And if he
+didn&rsquo;t I should be able to tell him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To tell him everything?&rdquo; our friend smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You talk just like the people in your book!&rdquo; she
+answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then they must all talk alike.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She thought a moment, not a bit disconcerted.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Well, it must be so difficult.&nbsp; Mr. St. George tells
+me it <i>is</i>&mdash;terribly.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve tried
+too&mdash;and I find it so.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve tried to write a
+novel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. St. George oughtn&rsquo;t to discourage you,&rdquo;
+Paul went so far as to say.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You do much more&mdash;when you wear that
+expression.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, after all, why try to be an artist?&rdquo; the
+young man pursued.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s so poor&mdash;so
+poor!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean,&rdquo; said Miss
+Fancourt, who looked grave.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean as compared with being a person of
+action&mdash;as living your works.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But what&rsquo;s art but an intense life&mdash;if it be
+real?&rdquo; she asked.&nbsp; &ldquo;I think it&rsquo;s the only
+one&mdash;everything else is so clumsy!&rdquo;&nbsp; Her
+companion laughed, and she brought out with her charming serenity
+what next struck her.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s so interesting to
+meet so many celebrated people.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I should think&mdash;but surely it isn&rsquo;t new
+to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why I&rsquo;ve never seen any one&mdash;any one: living
+always in Asia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The way she talked of Asia somehow enchanted him.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;But doesn&rsquo;t that continent swarm with great
+figures?&nbsp; Haven&rsquo;t you administered provinces in India
+and had captive rajahs and tributary princes chained to your
+car?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was as if she didn&rsquo;t care even <i>should</i> he amuse
+himself at her cost.&nbsp; &ldquo;I was with my father, after I
+left school to go out there.&nbsp; It was delightful being with
+him&mdash;we&rsquo;re alone together in the world, he and
+I&mdash;but there was none of the society I like best.&nbsp; One
+never heard of a picture&mdash;never of a book, except bad
+ones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never of a picture?&nbsp; Why, wasn&rsquo;t all life a
+picture?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked over the delightful place where they sat.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Nothing to compare to this.&nbsp; I adore England!&rdquo;
+she cried.</p>
+<p>It fairly stirred in him the sacred chord.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah of
+course I don&rsquo;t deny that we must do something with her,
+poor old dear, yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She hasn&rsquo;t been touched, really,&rdquo; said the
+girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did Mr. St. George say that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a small and, as he felt, harmless spark of irony in
+his question; which, however, she answered very simply, not
+noticing the insinuation.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes, he says England
+hasn&rsquo;t been touched&mdash;not considering all there
+is,&rdquo; she went on eagerly.&nbsp; &ldquo;He&rsquo;s so
+interesting about our country.&nbsp; To listen to him makes one
+want so to do something.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It would make <i>me</i> want to,&rdquo; said Paul
+Overt, feeling strongly, on the instant, the suggestion of what
+she said and that of the emotion with which she said it, and well
+aware of what an incentive, on St. George&rsquo;s lips, such a
+speech might be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh you&mdash;as if you hadn&rsquo;t!&nbsp; I should
+like so to hear you talk together,&rdquo; she added ardently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s very genial of you; but he&rsquo;d have it
+all his own way.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m prostrate before him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She had an air of earnestness.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you think then
+he&rsquo;s so perfect?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Far from it.&nbsp; Some of his later books seem to me
+of a queerness&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes&mdash;he knows that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul Overt stared.&nbsp; &ldquo;That they seem to me of a
+queerness&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well yes, or at any rate that they&rsquo;re not what
+they should be.&nbsp; He told me he didn&rsquo;t esteem
+them.&nbsp; He has told me such wonderful things&mdash;he&rsquo;s
+so interesting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a certain shock for Paul Overt in the knowledge that
+the fine genius they were talking of had been reduced to so
+explicit a confession and had made it, in his misery, to the
+first comer; for though Miss Fancourt was charming what was she
+after all but an immature girl encountered at a
+country-house?&nbsp; Yet precisely this was part of the sentiment
+he himself had just expressed: he would make way completely for
+the poor peccable great man not because he didn&rsquo;t read him
+clear, but altogether because he did.&nbsp; His consideration was
+half composed of tenderness for superficialities which he was
+sure their perpetrator judged privately, judged more ferociously
+than any one, and which represented some tragic intellectual
+secret.&nbsp; He would have his reasons for his psychology
+&agrave; fleur de peau, and these reasons could only be cruel
+ones, such as would make him dearer to those who already were
+fond of him.&nbsp; &ldquo;You excite my envy.&nbsp; I have my
+reserves, I discriminate&mdash;but I love him,&rdquo; Paul said
+in a moment.&nbsp; &ldquo;And seeing him for the first time this
+way is a great event for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How momentous&mdash;how magnificent!&rdquo; cried the
+girl.&nbsp; &ldquo;How delicious to bring you
+together!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your doing it&mdash;that makes it perfect,&rdquo; our
+friend returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s as eager as you,&rdquo; she went on.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s so odd you shouldn&rsquo;t have
+met.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not really so odd as it strikes you.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve been out of England so much&mdash;made repeated
+absences all these last years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She took this in with interest.&nbsp; &ldquo;And yet you write
+of it as well as if you were always here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just the being away perhaps.&nbsp; At any
+rate the best bits, I suspect, are those that were done in dreary
+places abroad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And why were they dreary?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because they were health-resorts&mdash;where my poor
+mother was dying.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your poor mother?&rdquo;&mdash;she was all sweet
+wonder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We went from place to place to help her to get
+better.&nbsp; But she never did.&nbsp; To the deadly Riviera (I
+hate it!) to the high Alps, to Algiers, and far away&mdash;a
+hideous journey&mdash;to Colorado.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And she isn&rsquo;t better?&rdquo; Miss Fancourt went
+on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She died a year ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really?&mdash;like mine!&nbsp; Only that&rsquo;s years
+since.&nbsp; Some day you must tell me about your mother,&rdquo;
+she added.</p>
+<p>He could at first, on this, only gaze at her.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;What right things you say!&nbsp; If you say them to St.
+George I don&rsquo;t wonder he&rsquo;s in bondage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It pulled her up for a moment.&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know
+what you mean.&nbsp; He doesn&rsquo;t make speeches and
+professions at all&mdash;he isn&rsquo;t ridiculous.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you consider then that I
+am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t&rdquo;&mdash;she spoke it rather
+shortly.&nbsp; And then she added: &ldquo;He
+understands&mdash;understands everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man was on the point of saying jocosely: &ldquo;And
+I don&rsquo;t&mdash;is that it?&rdquo;&nbsp; But these words, in
+time, changed themselves to others slightly less trivial:
+&ldquo;Do you suppose he understands his wife?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miss Fancourt made no direct answer, but after a
+moment&rsquo;s hesitation put it: &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t she
+charming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not in the least!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here he comes.&nbsp; Now you must know him,&rdquo; she
+went on.&nbsp; A small group of visitors had gathered at the
+other end of the gallery and had been there overtaken by Henry
+St. George, who strolled in from a neighbouring room.&nbsp; He
+stood near them a moment, not falling into the talk but taking up
+an old miniature from a table and vaguely regarding it.&nbsp; At
+the end of a minute he became aware of Miss Fancourt and her
+companion in the distance; whereupon, laying down his miniature,
+he approached them with the same procrastinating air, his hands
+in his pockets and his eyes turned, right and left, to the
+pictures.&nbsp; The gallery was so long that this transit took
+some little time, especially as there was a moment when he
+stopped to admire the fine Gainsborough.&nbsp; &ldquo;He says
+Mrs. St. George has been the making of him,&rdquo; the girl
+continued in a voice slightly lowered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah he&rsquo;s often obscure!&rdquo; Paul laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Obscure?&rdquo; she repeated as if she heard it for the
+first time.&nbsp; Her eyes rested on her other friend, and it
+wasn&rsquo;t lost upon Paul that they appeared to send out great
+shafts of softness.&nbsp; &ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to speak to
+us!&rdquo; she fondly breathed.&nbsp; There was a sort of rapture
+in her voice, and our friend was startled.&nbsp; &ldquo;Bless my
+soul, does she care for him like <i>that</i>?&mdash;is she in
+love with him?&rdquo; he mentally enquired.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I tell you he was eager?&rdquo; she had
+meanwhile asked of him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s eagerness dissimulated,&rdquo; the young man
+returned as the subject of their observation lingered before his
+Gainsborough.&nbsp; &ldquo;He edges toward us shyly.&nbsp; Does
+he mean that she saved him by burning that book?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That book? what book did she burn?&rdquo;&nbsp; The
+girl quickly turned her face to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t he told you then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then he doesn&rsquo;t tell you everything!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Paul had guessed that she pretty much supposed he did.&nbsp; The
+great man had now resumed his course and come nearer; in spite of
+which his more qualified admirer risked a profane observation:
+&ldquo;St. George and the Dragon is what the anecdote
+suggests!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His companion, however, didn&rsquo;t hear it; she smiled at
+the dragon&rsquo;s adversary.&nbsp; &ldquo;He <i>is</i>
+eager&mdash;he is!&rdquo; she insisted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eager for you&mdash;yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But meanwhile she had called out: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you
+want to know Mr. Overt.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll be great friends, and
+it will always be delightful to me to remember I was here when
+you first met and that I had something to do with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a freshness of intention in the words that carried
+them off; nevertheless our young man was sorry for Henry St.
+George, as he was sorry at any time for any person publicly
+invited to be responsive and delightful.&nbsp; He would have been
+so touched to believe that a man he deeply admired should care a
+straw for him that he wouldn&rsquo;t play with such a presumption
+if it were possibly vain.&nbsp; In a single glance of the eye of
+the pardonable Master he read&mdash;having the sort of divination
+that belonged to his talent&mdash;that this personage had ever a
+store of friendly patience, which was part of his rich outfit,
+but was versed in no printed page of a rising scribbler.&nbsp;
+There was even a relief, a simplification, in that: liking him so
+much already for what he had done, how could one have liked him
+any more for a perception which must at the best have been
+vague?&nbsp; Paul Overt got up, trying to show his compassion,
+but at the same instant he found himself encompassed by St.
+George&rsquo;s happy personal art&mdash;a manner of which it was
+the essence to conjure away false positions.&nbsp; It all took
+place in a moment.&nbsp; Paul was conscious that he knew him now,
+conscious of his handshake and of the very quality of his hand;
+of his face, seen nearer and consequently seen better, of a
+general fraternising assurance, and in particular of the
+circumstance that St. George didn&rsquo;t dislike him (as yet at
+least) for being imposed by a charming but too gushing girl,
+attractive enough without such danglers.&nbsp; No irritation at
+any rate was reflected in the voice with which he questioned Miss
+Fancourt as to some project of a walk&mdash;a general walk of the
+company round the park.&nbsp; He had soon said something to Paul
+about a talk&mdash;&ldquo;We must have a tremendous lot of talk;
+there are so many things, aren&rsquo;t there?&rdquo;&mdash;but
+our friend could see this idea wouldn&rsquo;t in the present case
+take very immediate effect.&nbsp; All the same he was extremely
+happy, even after the matter of the walk had been
+settled&mdash;the three presently passed back to the other part
+of the gallery, where it was discussed with several members of
+the party; even when, after they had all gone out together, he
+found himself for half an hour conjoined with Mrs. St.
+George.&nbsp; Her husband had taken the advance with Miss
+Fancourt, and this pair were quite out of sight.&nbsp; It was the
+prettiest of rambles for a summer afternoon&mdash;a grassy
+circuit, of immense extent, skirting the limit of the park
+within.&nbsp; The park was completely surrounded by its old
+mottled but perfect red wall, which, all the way on their left,
+constituted in itself an object of interest.&nbsp; Mrs. St.
+George mentioned to him the surprising number of acres thus
+enclosed, together with numerous other facts relating to the
+property and the family, and the family&rsquo;s other properties:
+she couldn&rsquo;t too strongly urge on him the importance of
+seeing their other houses.&nbsp; She ran over the names of these
+and rang the changes on them with the facility of practice,
+making them appear an almost endless list.&nbsp; She had received
+Paul Overt very amiably on his breaking ground with her by the
+mention of his joy in having just made her husband&rsquo;s
+acquaintance, and struck him as so alert and so accommodating a
+little woman that he was rather ashamed of his <i>mot</i> about
+her to Miss Fancourt; though he reflected that a hundred other
+people, on a hundred occasions, would have been sure to make
+it.&nbsp; He got on with Ms. St. George, in short, better than he
+expected; but this didn&rsquo;t prevent her suddenly becoming
+aware that she was faint with fatigue and must take her way back
+to the house by the shortest cut.&nbsp; She professed that she
+hadn&rsquo;t the strength of a kitten and was a miserable wreck;
+a character he had been too preoccupied to discern in her while
+he wondered in what sense she could be held to have been the
+making of her husband.&nbsp; He had arrived at a glimmering of
+the answer when she announced that she must leave him, though
+this perception was of course provisional.&nbsp; While he was in
+the very act of placing himself at her disposal for the return
+the situation underwent a change; Lord Masham had suddenly turned
+up, coming back to them, overtaking them, emerging from the
+shrubbery&mdash;Overt could scarcely have said how he
+appeared&mdash;and Mrs. St. George had protested that she wanted
+to be left alone and not to break up the party.&nbsp; A moment
+later she was walking off with Lord Masham.&nbsp; Our friend fell
+back and joined Lady Watermouth, to whom he presently mentioned
+that Mrs. St. George had been obliged to renounce the attempt to
+go further.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She oughtn&rsquo;t to have come out at all,&rdquo; her
+ladyship rather grumpily remarked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is she so very much of an invalid?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very bad indeed.&rdquo;&nbsp; And his hostess added
+with still greater austerity: &ldquo;She oughtn&rsquo;t really to
+come to one!&rdquo;&nbsp; He wondered what was implied by this,
+and presently gathered that it was not a reflexion on the
+lady&rsquo;s conduct or her moral nature: it only represented
+that her strength was not equal to her aspirations.</p>
+<h2><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+39</span>III</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">The</span> smoking-room at Summersoft was
+on the scale of the rest of the place; high light commodious and
+decorated with such refined old carvings and mouldings that it
+seemed rather a bower for ladies who should sit at work at fading
+crewels than a parliament of gentlemen smoking strong
+cigars.&nbsp; The gentlemen mustered there in considerable force
+on the Sunday evening, collecting mainly at one end, in front of
+one of the cool fair fireplaces of white marble, the entablature
+of which was adorned with a delicate little Italian
+&ldquo;subject.&rdquo;&nbsp; There was another in the wall that
+faced it, and, thanks to the mild summer night, a fire in
+neither; but a nucleus for aggregation was furnished on one side
+by a table in the chimney-corner laden with bottles, decanters
+and tall tumblers.&nbsp; Paul Overt was a faithless smoker; he
+would puff a cigarette for reasons with which tobacco had nothing
+to do.&nbsp; This was particularly the case on the occasion of
+which I speak; his motive was the vision of a little direct talk
+with Henry St. George.&nbsp; The &ldquo;tremendous&rdquo;
+communion of which the great man had held out hopes to him
+earlier in the day had not yet come off, and this saddened him
+considerably, for the party was to go its several ways
+immediately after breakfast on the morrow.&nbsp; He had, however,
+the disappointment of finding that apparently the author of
+&ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; was not disposed to prolong his
+vigil.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t among the gentlemen assembled when
+Paul entered, nor was he one of those who turned up, in bright
+habiliments, during the next ten minutes.&nbsp; The young man
+waited a little, wondering if he had only gone to put on
+something extraordinary; this would account for his delay as well
+as contribute further to Overt&rsquo;s impression of his tendency
+to do the approved superficial thing.&nbsp; But he didn&rsquo;t
+arrive&mdash;he must have been putting on something more
+extraordinary than was probable.&nbsp; Our hero gave him up,
+feeling a little injured, a little wounded, at this loss of
+twenty coveted words.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t angry, but he puffed
+his cigarette sighingly, with the sense of something rare
+possibly missed.&nbsp; He wandered away with his regret and moved
+slowly round the room, looking at the old prints on the
+walls.&nbsp; In this attitude he presently felt a hand on his
+shoulder and a friendly voice in his ear &ldquo;This is
+good.&nbsp; I hoped I should find you.&nbsp; I came down on
+purpose.&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George was there without a change of
+dress and with a fine face&mdash;his graver one&mdash;to which
+our young man all in a flutter responded.&nbsp; He explained that
+it was only for the Master&mdash;the idea of a little
+talk&mdash;that he had sat up, and that, not finding him, he had
+been on the point of going to bed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you know, I don&rsquo;t smoke&mdash;my wife
+doesn&rsquo;t let me,&rdquo; said St. George, looking for a place
+to sit down.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s very good for me&mdash;very
+good for me.&nbsp; Let us take that sofa.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean smoking&rsquo;s good for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No no&mdash;her not letting me.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a
+great thing to have a wife who&rsquo;s so sure of all the things
+one can do without.&nbsp; One might never find them out
+one&rsquo;s self.&nbsp; She doesn&rsquo;t allow me to touch a
+cigarette.&rdquo;&nbsp; They took possession of a sofa at a
+distance from the group of smokers, and St. George went on:
+&ldquo;Have you got one yourself?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean a cigarette?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear no&mdash;a wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; and yet I&rsquo;d give up my cigarette for
+one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d give up a good deal more than that,&rdquo;
+St. George returned.&nbsp; &ldquo;However, you&rsquo;d get a
+great deal in return.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a something to be said
+for wives,&rdquo; he added, folding his arms and crossing his
+outstretched legs.&nbsp; He declined tobacco altogether and sat
+there without returning fire.&nbsp; His companion stopped
+smoking, touched by his courtesy; and after all they were out of
+the fumes, their sofa was in a far-away corner.&nbsp; It would
+have been a mistake, St. George went on, a great mistake for them
+to have separated without a little chat; &ldquo;for I know all
+about you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I know you&rsquo;re very
+remarkable.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve written a very distinguished
+book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And how do you know it?&rdquo; Paul asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, my dear fellow, it&rsquo;s in the air, it&rsquo;s
+in the papers, it&rsquo;s everywhere.&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George
+spoke with the immediate familiarity of a confr&egrave;re&mdash;a
+tone that seemed to his neighbour the very rustle of the
+laurel.&nbsp; &ldquo;You&rsquo;re on all men&rsquo;s lips and,
+what&rsquo;s better, on all women&rsquo;s.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;ve
+just been reading your book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just?&nbsp; You hadn&rsquo;t read it this
+afternoon,&rdquo; said Overt.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do you know that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think you should know how I know it,&rdquo; the young
+man laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose Miss Fancourt told you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No indeed&mdash;she led me rather to suppose you
+had.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;that&rsquo;s much more what she&rsquo;d
+do.&nbsp; Doesn&rsquo;t she shed a rosy glow over life?&nbsp; But
+you didn&rsquo;t believe her?&rdquo; asked St. George.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, not when you came to us there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did I pretend? did I pretend badly?&rdquo;&nbsp; But
+without waiting for an answer to this St. George went on:
+&ldquo;You ought always to believe such a girl as
+that&mdash;always, always.&nbsp; Some women are meant to be taken
+with allowances and reserves; but you must take <i>her</i> just
+as she is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I like her very much,&rdquo; said Paul Overt.</p>
+<p>Something in his tone appeared to excite on his
+companion&rsquo;s part a momentary sense of the absurd; perhaps
+it was the air of deliberation attending this judgement.&nbsp;
+St. George broke into a laugh to reply.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+the best thing you can do with her.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a rare
+young lady!&nbsp; In point of fact, however, I confess I
+hadn&rsquo;t read you this afternoon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you see how right I was in this particular case
+not to believe Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How right? how can I agree to that when I lost credit
+by it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you wish to pass exactly for what she represents
+you?&nbsp; Certainly you needn&rsquo;t be afraid,&rdquo; Paul
+said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, my dear young man, don&rsquo;t talk about
+passing&mdash;for the likes of me!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m passing
+away&mdash;nothing else than that.&nbsp; She has a better use for
+her young imagination (isn&rsquo;t it fine?) than in
+&lsquo;representing&rsquo; in any way such a weary wasted used-up
+animal!&rdquo;&nbsp; The Master spoke with a sudden sadness that
+produced a protest on Paul&rsquo;s part; but before the protest
+could be uttered he went on, reverting to the latter&rsquo;s
+striking novel: &ldquo;I had no idea you were so good&mdash;one
+hears of so many things.&nbsp; But you&rsquo;re surprisingly
+good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to be surprisingly better,&rdquo; Overt
+made bold to reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see that, and it&rsquo;s what fetches me.&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t see so much else&mdash;as one looks
+about&mdash;that&rsquo;s going to be surprisingly better.&nbsp;
+They&rsquo;re going to be consistently worse&mdash;most of the
+things.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s so much easier to be worse&mdash;heaven
+knows I&rsquo;ve found it so.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not in a great
+glow, you know, about what&rsquo;s breaking out all over the
+place.&nbsp; But you <i>must</i> be better&mdash;you really must
+keep it up.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t of course.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+very difficult&mdash;that&rsquo;s the devil of the whole thing,
+keeping it up.&nbsp; But I see you&rsquo;ll be able to.&nbsp; It
+will be a great disgrace if you don&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very interesting to hear you speak of
+yourself; but I don&rsquo;t know what you mean by your allusions
+to your having fallen off,&rdquo; Paul Overt observed with
+pardonable hypocrisy.&nbsp; He liked his companion so much now
+that the fact of any decline of talent or of care had ceased for
+the moment to be vivid to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that&mdash;don&rsquo;t say that,&rdquo;
+St. George returned gravely, his head resting on the top of the
+sofa-back and his eyes on the ceiling.&nbsp; &ldquo;You know
+perfectly what I mean.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t read twenty pages of
+your book without seeing that you can&rsquo;t help it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You make me very miserable,&rdquo; Paul ecstatically
+breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad of that, for it may serve as a kind of
+warning.&nbsp; Shocking enough it must be, especially to a young
+fresh mind, full of faith&mdash;the spectacle of a man meant for
+better things sunk at my age in such dishonour.&rdquo;&nbsp; St.
+George, in the same contemplative attitude, spoke softly but
+deliberately, and without perceptible emotion.&nbsp; His tone
+indeed suggested an impersonal lucidity that was practically
+cruel&mdash;cruel to himself&mdash;and made his young friend lay
+an argumentative hand on his arm.&nbsp; But he went on while his
+eyes seemed to follow the graces of the eighteenth-century
+ceiling: &ldquo;Look at me well, take my lesson to
+heart&mdash;for it <i>is</i> a lesson.&nbsp; Let that good come
+of it at least that you shudder with your pitiful impression, and
+that this may help to keep you straight in the future.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t become in your old age what I have in mine&mdash;the
+depressing, the deplorable illustration of the worship of false
+gods!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean by your old age?&rdquo; the young man
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It has made me old.&nbsp; But I like your
+youth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul answered nothing&mdash;they sat for a minute in
+silence.&nbsp; They heard the others going on about the
+governmental majority.&nbsp; Then &ldquo;What do you mean by
+false gods?&rdquo; he enquired.</p>
+<p>His companion had no difficulty whatever in saying, &ldquo;The
+idols of the market; money and luxury and &lsquo;the
+world;&rsquo; placing one&rsquo;s children and dressing
+one&rsquo;s wife; everything that drives one to the short and
+easy way.&nbsp; Ah the vile things they make one do!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But surely one&rsquo;s right to want to place
+one&rsquo;s children.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One has no business to have any children,&rdquo; St.
+George placidly declared.&nbsp; &ldquo;I mean of course if one
+wants to do anything good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But aren&rsquo;t they an inspiration&mdash;an
+incentive?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An incentive to damnation, artistically
+speaking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You touch on very deep things&mdash;things I should
+like to discuss with you,&rdquo; Paul said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I should
+like you to tell me volumes about yourself.&nbsp; This is a great
+feast for <i>me</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course it is, cruel youth.&nbsp; But to show you
+I&rsquo;m still not incapable, degraded as I am, of an act of
+faith, I&rsquo;ll tie my vanity to the stake for you and burn it
+to ashes.&nbsp; You must come and see me&mdash;you must come and
+see us,&rdquo; the Master quickly substituted.&nbsp; &ldquo;Mrs.
+St. George is charming; I don&rsquo;t know whether you&rsquo;ve
+had any opportunity to talk with her.&nbsp; She&rsquo;ll be
+delighted to see you; she likes great celebrities, whether
+incipient or predominant.&nbsp; You must come and dine&mdash;my
+wife will write to you.&nbsp; Where are you to be
+found?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is my little address&rdquo;&mdash;and Overt drew
+out his pocketbook and extracted a visiting-card.&nbsp; On second
+thoughts, however, he kept it back, remarking that he
+wouldn&rsquo;t trouble his friend to take charge of it but would
+come and see him straightway in London and leave it at his door
+if he should fail to obtain entrance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you&rsquo;ll probably fail; my wife&rsquo;s always
+out&mdash;or when she isn&rsquo;t out is knocked up from having
+been out.&nbsp; You must come and dine&mdash;though that
+won&rsquo;t do much good either, for my wife insists on big
+dinners.&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George turned it over further, but then
+went on: &ldquo;You must come down and see us in the country,
+that&rsquo;s the best way; we&rsquo;ve plenty of room, and it
+isn&rsquo;t bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve a house in the country?&rdquo; Paul asked
+enviously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah not like this!&nbsp; But we have a sort of place we
+go to&mdash;an hour from Euston.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s one of the
+reasons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of the reasons?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why my books are so bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must tell me all the others!&rdquo; Paul longingly
+laughed.</p>
+<p>His friend made no direct rejoinder to this, but spoke again
+abruptly.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why have I never seen you
+before?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tone of the question was singularly flattering to our
+hero, who felt it to imply the great man&rsquo;s now perceiving
+he had for years missed something.&nbsp; &ldquo;Partly, I
+suppose, because there has been no particular reason why you
+should see me.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t lived in the world&mdash;in
+your world.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve spent many years out of England, in
+different places abroad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, please don&rsquo;t do it any more.&nbsp; You must
+do England&mdash;there&rsquo;s such a lot of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean I must write about it?&rdquo; and Paul
+struck the note of the listening candour of a child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you must.&nbsp; And tremendously well, do you
+mind?&nbsp; That takes off a little of my esteem for this thing
+of yours&mdash;that it goes on abroad.&nbsp; Hang
+&lsquo;abroad!&rsquo;&nbsp; Stay at home and do things
+here&mdash;do subjects we can measure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do whatever you tell me,&rdquo; Overt said,
+deeply attentive.&nbsp; &ldquo;But pardon me if I say I
+don&rsquo;t understand how you&rsquo;ve been reading my
+book,&rdquo; he added.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had you before me
+all the afternoon, first in that long walk, then at tea on the
+lawn, till we went to dress for dinner, and all the evening at
+dinner and in this place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George turned his face about with a smile.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+gave it but a quarter of an hour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A quarter of an hour&rsquo;s immense, but I don&rsquo;t
+understand where you put it in.&nbsp; In the drawing-room after
+dinner you weren&rsquo;t reading&mdash;you were talking to Miss
+Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It comes to the same thing, because we talked about
+&lsquo;Ginistrella.&rsquo;&nbsp; She described it to me&mdash;she
+lent me her copy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lent it to you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She travels with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s incredible,&rdquo; Paul blushed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s glorious for you, but it also turned out
+very well for me.&nbsp; When the ladies went off to bed she
+kindly offered to send the book down to me.&nbsp; Her maid
+brought it to me in the hall and I went to my room with it.&nbsp;
+I hadn&rsquo;t thought of coming here, I do that so little.&nbsp;
+But I don&rsquo;t sleep early, I always have to read an hour or
+two.&nbsp; I sat down to your novel on the spot, without
+undressing, without taking off anything but my coat.&nbsp; I
+think that&rsquo;s a sign my curiosity had been strongly roused
+about it.&nbsp; I read a quarter of an hour, as I tell you, and
+even in a quarter of an hour I was greatly struck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah the beginning isn&rsquo;t very good&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+the whole thing!&rdquo; said Overt, who had listened to this
+recital with extreme interest.&nbsp; &ldquo;And you laid down the
+book and came after me?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way it moved me.&nbsp; I said to
+myself &lsquo;I see it&rsquo;s off his own bat, and he&rsquo;s
+there, by the way, and the day&rsquo;s over and I haven&rsquo;t
+said twenty words to him.&rsquo;&nbsp; It occurred to me that
+you&rsquo;d probably be in the smoking-room and that it
+wouldn&rsquo;t be too late to repair my omission.&nbsp; I wanted
+to do something civil to you, so I put on my coat and came
+down.&nbsp; I shall read your book again when I go up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our friend faced round in his place&mdash;he was touched as he
+had scarce ever been by the picture of such a demonstration in
+his favour.&nbsp; &ldquo;You&rsquo;re really the kindest of
+men.&nbsp; Cela s&rsquo;est pass&eacute; comme
+&ccedil;a?&mdash;and I&rsquo;ve been sitting here with you all
+this time and never apprehended it and never thanked
+you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank Miss Fancourt&mdash;it was she who wound me
+up.&nbsp; She has made me feel as if I had read your
+novel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s an angel from heaven!&rdquo; Paul
+declared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is indeed.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve never seen any one like
+her.&nbsp; Her interest in literature&rsquo;s
+touching&mdash;something quite peculiar to herself; she takes it
+all so seriously.&nbsp; She feels the arts and she wants to feel
+them more.&nbsp; To those who practise them it&rsquo;s almost
+humiliating&mdash;her curiosity, her sympathy, her good
+faith.&nbsp; How can anything be as fine as she supposes
+it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a rare organisation,&rdquo; the younger man
+sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The richest I&rsquo;ve ever seen&mdash;an artistic
+intelligence really of the first order.&nbsp; And lodged in such
+a form!&rdquo; St. George exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One would like to represent such a girl as that,&rdquo;
+Paul continued.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah there it is&mdash;there&rsquo;s nothing like
+life!&rdquo; said his companion.&nbsp; &ldquo;When you&rsquo;re
+finished, squeezed dry and used up and you think the sack&rsquo;s
+empty, you&rsquo;re still appealed to, you still get touches and
+thrills, the idea springs up&mdash;out of the lap of the
+actual&mdash;and shows you there&rsquo;s always something to be
+done.&nbsp; But I shan&rsquo;t do it&mdash;she&rsquo;s not for
+me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do you mean, not for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh it&rsquo;s all over&mdash;she&rsquo;s for you, if
+you like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah much less!&rdquo; said Paul.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not for a dingy little man of letters;
+she&rsquo;s for the world, the bright rich world of bribes and
+rewards.&nbsp; And the world will take hold of her&mdash;it will
+carry her away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It will try&mdash;but it&rsquo;s just a case in which
+there may be a fight.&nbsp; It would be worth fighting, for a man
+who had it in him, with youth and talent on his side.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>These words rang not a little in Paul Overt&rsquo;s
+consciousness&mdash;they held him briefly silent.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wonder she has remained as she is; giving
+herself away so&mdash;with so much to give away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Remaining, you mean, so ingenuous&mdash;so
+natural?&nbsp; Oh she doesn&rsquo;t care a straw&mdash;she gives
+away because she overflows.&nbsp; She has her own feelings, her
+own standards; she doesn&rsquo;t keep remembering that she must
+be proud.&nbsp; And then she hasn&rsquo;t been here long enough
+to be spoiled; she has picked up a fashion or two, but only the
+amusing ones.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a provincial&mdash;a provincial
+of genius,&rdquo; St. George went on; &ldquo;her very blunders
+are charming, her mistakes are interesting.&nbsp; She has come
+back from Asia with all sorts of excited curiosities and
+unappeased appetities.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s first-rate herself and
+she expends herself on the second-rate.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s life
+herself and she takes a rare interest in imitations.&nbsp; She
+mixes all things up, but there are none in regard to which she
+hasn&rsquo;t perceptions.&nbsp; She sees things in a
+perspective&mdash;as if from the top of the Himalayas&mdash;and
+she enlarges everything she touches.&nbsp; Above all she
+exaggerates&mdash;to herself, I mean.&nbsp; She exaggerates you
+and me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was nothing in that description to allay the agitation
+caused in our younger friend by such a sketch of a fine
+subject.&nbsp; It seemed to him to show the art of St.
+George&rsquo;s admired hand, and he lost himself in gazing at the
+vision&mdash;this hovered there before him&mdash;of a
+woman&rsquo;s figure which should be part of the glory of a
+novel.&nbsp; But at the end of a moment the thing had turned into
+smoke, and out of the smoke&mdash;the last puff of a big
+cigar&mdash;proceeded the voice of General Fancourt, who had left
+the others and come and planted himself before the gentlemen on
+the sofa.&nbsp; &ldquo;I suppose that when you fellows get
+talking you sit up half the night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Half the night?&mdash;jamais de la vie!&nbsp; I follow
+a hygiene&rdquo;&mdash;and St. George rose to his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see&mdash;you&rsquo;re hothouse plants,&rdquo;
+laughed the General.&nbsp; &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way you
+produce your flowers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I produce mine between ten and one every
+morning&mdash;I bloom with a regularity!&rdquo; St. George went
+on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And with a splendour!&rdquo; added the polite General,
+while Paul noted how little the author of
+&ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; minded, as he phrased it to himself,
+when addressed as a celebrated story-teller.&nbsp; The young man
+had an idea <i>he</i> should never get used to that; it would
+always make him uncomfortable&mdash;from the suspicion that
+people would think they had to&mdash;and he would want to prevent
+it.&nbsp; Evidently his great colleague had toughened and
+hardened&mdash;had made himself a surface.&nbsp; The group of men
+had finished their cigars and taken up their bedroom
+candlesticks; but before they all passed out Lord Watermouth
+invited the pair of guests who had been so absorbed together to
+&ldquo;have&rdquo; something.&nbsp; It happened that they both
+declined; upon which General Fancourt said: &ldquo;Is that the
+hygiene?&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t water the flowers?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I should drown them!&rdquo; St. George replied; but,
+leaving the room still at his young friend&rsquo;s side, he added
+whimsically, for the latter&rsquo;s benefit, in a lower tone:
+&ldquo;My wife doesn&rsquo;t let me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well I&rsquo;m glad I&rsquo;m not one of you
+fellows!&rdquo; the General richly concluded.</p>
+<p>The nearness of Summersoft to London had this consequence,
+chilling to a person who had had a vision of sociability in a
+railway-carriage, that most of the company, after breakfast,
+drove back to town, entering their own vehicles, which had come
+out to fetch them, while their servants returned by train with
+their luggage.&nbsp; Three or four young men, among whom was Paul
+Overt, also availed themselves of the common convenience; but
+they stood in the portico of the house and saw the others roll
+away.&nbsp; Miss Fancourt got into a victoria with her father
+after she had shaken hands with our hero and said, smiling in the
+frankest way in the world, &ldquo;I <i>must</i> see you
+more.&nbsp; Mrs. St. George is so nice: she has promised to ask
+us both to dinner together.&rdquo;&nbsp; This lady and her
+husband took their places in a perfectly-appointed
+brougham&mdash;she required a closed carriage&mdash;and as our
+young man waved his hat to them in response to their nods and
+flourishes he reflected that, taken together, they were an
+honourable image of success, of the material rewards and the
+social credit of literature.&nbsp; Such things were not the full
+measure, but he nevertheless felt a little proud for
+literature.</p>
+<h2><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+56</span>IV</h2>
+<p>Before a week had elapsed he met Miss Fancourt in Bond Street,
+at a private view of the works of a young artist in
+&ldquo;black-and-white&rdquo; who had been so good as to invite
+him to the stuffy scene.&nbsp; The drawings were admirable, but
+the crowd in the one little room was so dense that he felt
+himself up to his neck in a sack of wool.&nbsp; A fringe of
+people at the outer edge endeavoured by curving forward their
+backs and presenting, below them, a still more convex surface of
+resistance to the pressure of the mass, to preserve an interval
+between their noses and the glazed mounts of the pictures; while
+the central body, in the comparative gloom projected by a wide
+horizontal screen hung under the skylight and allowing only a
+margin for the day, remained upright dense and vague, lost in the
+contemplation of its own ingredients.&nbsp; This contemplation
+sat especially in the sad eyes of certain female heads,
+surmounted with hats of strange convolution and plumage, which
+rose on long necks above the others.&nbsp; One of the heads Paul
+perceived, was much the so most beautiful of the collection, and
+his next discovery was that it belonged to Miss Fancourt.&nbsp;
+Its beauty was enhanced by the glad smile she sent him across
+surrounding obstructions, a smile that drew him to her as fast as
+he could make his way.&nbsp; He had seen for himself at
+Summersoft that the last thing her nature contained was an
+affectation of indifference; yet even with this circumspection he
+took a fresh satisfaction in her not having pretended to await
+his arrival with composure.&nbsp; She smiled as radiantly as if
+she wished to make him hurry, and as soon as he came within
+earshot she broke out in her voice of joy: &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+here&mdash;he&rsquo;s here&mdash;he&rsquo;s coming back in a
+moment!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah your father?&rdquo; Paul returned as she offered him
+her hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh dear no, this isn&rsquo;t in my poor father&rsquo;s
+line.&nbsp; I mean Mr. St. George.&nbsp; He has just left me to
+speak to some one&mdash;he&rsquo;s coming back.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+he who brought me&mdash;wasn&rsquo;t it charming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah that gives him a pull over me&mdash;I couldn&rsquo;t
+have &lsquo;brought&rsquo; you, could I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you had been so kind as to propose it&mdash;why not
+you as well as he?&rdquo; the girl returned with a face that,
+expressing no cheap coquetry, simply affirmed a happy fact.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why he&rsquo;s a p&egrave;re de famille.&nbsp;
+They&rsquo;ve privileges,&rdquo; Paul explained.&nbsp; And then
+quickly: &ldquo;Will you go to see places with <i>me</i>?&rdquo;
+he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anything you like!&rdquo; she smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+know what you mean, that girls have to have a lot of
+people&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp; Then she broke off: &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t know; I&rsquo;m free.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve always been
+like that&mdash;I can go about with any one.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m so
+glad to meet you,&rdquo; she added with a sweet distinctness that
+made those near her turn round.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of
+this squash,&rdquo; her friend said.&nbsp; &ldquo;Surely people
+aren&rsquo;t happy here!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, they&rsquo;re awfully mornes, aren&rsquo;t
+they?&nbsp; But I&rsquo;m very happy indeed and I promised Mr.
+St. George to remain in this spot till he comes back.&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;s going to take me away.&nbsp; They send him invitations
+for things of this sort&mdash;more than he wants.&nbsp; It was so
+kind of him to think of me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They also send me invitations of this kind&mdash;more
+than <i>I</i> want.&nbsp; And if thinking of <i>you</i> will do
+it&mdash;!&rdquo; Paul went on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I delight in them&mdash;everything that&rsquo;s
+life&mdash;everything that&rsquo;s London!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t have private views in Asia, I
+suppose,&rdquo; he laughed.&nbsp; &ldquo;But what a pity that for
+this year, even in this gorged city, they&rsquo;re pretty well
+over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe
+we&rsquo;re going to be friends always.&nbsp; Here he
+comes!&rdquo; Miss Fancourt continued before Paul had time to
+respond.</p>
+<p>He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this
+perhaps led to his hurrying a little to say: &ldquo;I hope that
+doesn&rsquo;t mean I&rsquo;m to wait till next year to see
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;aren&rsquo;t we to meet at dinner on the
+twenty-fifth?&rdquo; she panted with an eagerness as happy as his
+own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s almost next year.&nbsp; Is there no means
+of seeing you before?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stared with all her brightness.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you mean
+you&rsquo;d <i>come</i>?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like a shot, if you&rsquo;ll be so good as to ask
+me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On Sunday then&mdash;this next Sunday?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What have I done that you should doubt it?&rdquo; the
+young man asked with delight.</p>
+<p>Miss Fancourt turned instantly to St. George, who had now
+joined them, and announced triumphantly: &ldquo;He&rsquo;s coming
+on Sunday&mdash;this next Sunday!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah my day&mdash;my day too!&rdquo; said the famous
+novelist, laughing, to their companion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but not yours only.&nbsp; You shall meet in
+Manchester Square; you shall talk&mdash;you shall be
+wonderful!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t meet often enough,&rdquo; St. George
+allowed, shaking hands with his disciple.&nbsp; &ldquo;Too many
+things&mdash;ah too many things!&nbsp; But we must make it up in
+the country in September.&nbsp; You won&rsquo;t forget
+you&rsquo;ve promised me that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why he&rsquo;s coming on the
+twenty-fifth&mdash;you&rsquo;ll see him then,&rdquo; said the
+girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On the twenty-fifth?&rdquo; St. George asked
+vaguely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We dine with you; I hope you haven&rsquo;t
+forgotten.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s dining out that day,&rdquo; she added
+gaily to Paul.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh bless me, yes&mdash;that&rsquo;s charming!&nbsp; And
+you&rsquo;re coming?&nbsp; My wife didn&rsquo;t tell me,&rdquo;
+St. George said to him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Too many things&mdash;too
+many things!&rdquo; he repeated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too many people&mdash;too many people!&rdquo; Paul
+exclaimed, giving ground before the penetration of an elbow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You oughtn&rsquo;t to say that.&nbsp; They all read
+you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me?&nbsp; I should like to see them!&nbsp; Only two or
+three at most,&rdquo; the young man returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you ever hear anything like that?&nbsp; He knows,
+haughtily, how good he is!&rdquo; St. George declared, laughing
+to Miss Fancourt.&nbsp; &ldquo;They read <i>me</i>, but that
+doesn&rsquo;t make me like them any better.&nbsp; Come away from
+them, come away!&rdquo;&nbsp; And he led the way out of the
+exhibition.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to take me to the Park,&rdquo; Miss
+Fancourt observed to Overt with elation as they passed along the
+corridor that led to the street.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah does he go there?&rdquo; Paul asked, taking the fact
+for a somewhat unexpected illustration of St. George&rsquo;s
+moeurs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a beautiful day&mdash;there&rsquo;ll be a
+great crowd.&nbsp; We&rsquo;re going to look at the people, to
+look at types,&rdquo; the girl went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;We shall sit
+under the trees; we shall walk by the Row.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I go once a year&mdash;on business,&rdquo; said St.
+George, who had overheard Paul&rsquo;s question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or with a country cousin, didn&rsquo;t you tell
+me?&nbsp; I&rsquo;m the country cousin!&rdquo; she continued over
+her shoulder to Paul as their friend drew her toward a hansom to
+which he had signalled.&nbsp; The young man watched them get in;
+he returned, as he stood there, the friendly wave of the hand
+with which, ensconced in the vehicle beside her, St. George took
+leave of him.&nbsp; He even lingered to see the vehicle start
+away and lose itself in the confusion of Bond Street.&nbsp; He
+followed it with his eyes; it put to him embarrassing
+things.&nbsp; &ldquo;She&rsquo;s not for <i>me</i>!&rdquo; the
+great novelist had said emphatically at Summersoft; but his
+manner of conducting himself toward her appeared not quite in
+harmony with such a conviction.&nbsp; How could he have behaved
+differently if she <i>had</i> been for him?&nbsp; An indefinite
+envy rose in Paul Overt&rsquo;s heart as he took his way on foot
+alone; a feeling addressed alike strangely enough, to each of the
+occupants of the hansom.&nbsp; How much he should like to rattle
+about London with such a girl!&nbsp; How much he should like to
+go and look at &ldquo;types&rdquo; with St. George!</p>
+<p>The next Sunday at four o&rsquo;clock he called in Manchester
+Square, where his secret wish was gratified by his finding Miss
+Fancourt alone.&nbsp; She was in a large bright friendly occupied
+room, which was painted red all over, draped with the quaint
+cheap florid stuffs that are represented as coming from southern
+and eastern countries, where they are fabled to serve as the
+counterpanes of the peasantry, and bedecked with pottery of vivid
+hues, ranged on casual shelves, and with many water-colour
+drawings from the hand (as the visitor learned) of the young lady
+herself, commemorating with a brave breadth the sunsets, the
+mountains, the temples and palaces of India.&nbsp; He sat an
+hour&mdash;more than an hour, two hours&mdash;and all the while
+no one came in.&nbsp; His hostess was so good as to remark, with
+her liberal humanity, that it was delightful they weren&rsquo;t
+interrupted; it was so rare in London, especially at that season,
+that people got a good talk.&nbsp; But luckily now, of a fine
+Sunday, half the world went out of town, and that made it better
+for those who didn&rsquo;t go, when these others were in
+sympathy.&nbsp; It was the defect of London&mdash;one of two or
+three, the very short list of those she recognised in the teeming
+world-city she adored&mdash;that there were too few good chances
+for talk; you never had time to carry anything far.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too many things&mdash;too many things!&rdquo; Paul
+said, quoting St. George&rsquo;s exclamation of a few days
+before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes, for him there are too many&mdash;his
+life&rsquo;s too complicated.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you seen it <i>near</i>?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what I
+should like to do; it might explain some mysteries,&rdquo; her
+visitor went on.&nbsp; She asked him what mysteries he meant, and
+he said: &ldquo;Oh peculiarities of his work, inequalities,
+superficialities.&nbsp; For one who looks at it from the artistic
+point of view it contains a bottomless ambiguity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She became at this, on the spot, all intensity.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Ah do describe that more&mdash;it&rsquo;s so
+interesting.&nbsp; There are no such suggestive questions.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m so fond of them.&nbsp; He thinks he&rsquo;s a
+failure&mdash;fancy!&rdquo; she beautifully wailed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That depends on what his ideal may have been.&nbsp;
+With his gifts it ought to have been high.&nbsp; But till one
+knows what he really proposed to himself&mdash;?&nbsp; Do
+<i>you</i> know by chance?&rdquo; the young man broke off.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh he doesn&rsquo;t talk to me about himself.&nbsp; I
+can&rsquo;t make him.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s too provoking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul was on the point of asking what then he did talk about,
+but discretion checked it and he said instead: &ldquo;Do you
+think he&rsquo;s unhappy at home?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She seemed to wonder.&nbsp; &ldquo;At home?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean in his relations with his wife.&nbsp; He has a
+mystifying little way of alluding to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to me,&rdquo; said Marian Fancourt with her clear
+eyes.&nbsp; &ldquo;That wouldn&rsquo;t be right, would it?&rdquo;
+she asked gravely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not particularly; so I&rsquo;m glad he doesn&rsquo;t
+mention her to you.&nbsp; To praise her might bore you, and he
+has no business to do anything else.&nbsp; Yet he knows you
+better than me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah but he respects <i>you</i>!&rdquo; the girl cried as
+with envy.</p>
+<p>Her visitor stared a moment, then broke into a laugh.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t he respect you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course, but not in the same way.&nbsp; He respects
+what you&rsquo;ve done&mdash;he told me so, the other
+day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul drank it in, but retained his faculties.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;When you went to look at types?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;we found so many: he has such an observation
+of them!&nbsp; He talked a great deal about your book.&nbsp; He
+says it&rsquo;s really important.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Important!&nbsp; Ah the grand
+creature!&rdquo;&mdash;and the author of the work in question
+groaned for joy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was wonderfully amusing, he was inexpressibly droll,
+while we walked about.&nbsp; He sees everything; he has so many
+comparisons and images, and they&rsquo;re always exactly
+right.&nbsp; C&rsquo;est d&rsquo;un trouv&eacute;, as they
+say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, with his gifts, such things as he ought to have
+done!&rdquo; Paul sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And don&rsquo;t you think he <i>has</i> done
+them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ah it was just the point.&nbsp; &ldquo;A part of them, and of
+course even that part&rsquo;s immense.&nbsp; But he might have
+been one of the greatest.&nbsp; However, let us not make this an
+hour of qualifications.&nbsp; Even as they stand,&rdquo; our
+friend earnestly concluded, &ldquo;his writings are a mine of
+gold.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To this proposition she ardently responded, and for half an
+hour the pair talked over the Master&rsquo;s principal
+productions.&nbsp; She knew them well&mdash;she knew them even
+better than her visitor, who was struck with her critical
+intelligence and with something large and bold in the movement in
+her mind.&nbsp; She said things that startled him and that
+evidently had come to her directly; they weren&rsquo;t picked-up
+phrases&mdash;she placed them too well.&nbsp; St. George had been
+right about her being first-rate, about her not being afraid to
+gush, not remembering that she must be proud.&nbsp; Suddenly
+something came back to her, and she said: &ldquo;I recollect that
+he did speak of Mrs. St. George to me once.&nbsp; He said,
+apropos of something or other, that she didn&rsquo;t care for
+perfection.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a great crime in an artist&rsquo;s
+wife,&rdquo; Paul returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, poor thing!&rdquo; and the girl sighed with a
+suggestion of many reflexions, some of them mitigating.&nbsp; But
+she presently added: &ldquo;Ah perfection, perfection&mdash;how
+one ought to go in for it!&nbsp; I wish <i>I</i>
+could.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Every one can in his way,&rdquo; her companion
+opined.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In <i>his</i> way, yes&mdash;but not in hers.&nbsp;
+Women are so hampered&mdash;so condemned!&nbsp; Yet it&rsquo;s a
+kind of dishonour if you don&rsquo;t, when you want to <i>do</i>
+something, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;&nbsp; Miss Fancourt pursued,
+dropping one train in her quickness to take up another, an
+accident that was common with her.&nbsp; So these two young
+persons sat discussing high themes in their eclectic
+drawing-room, in their London
+&ldquo;season&rdquo;&mdash;discussing, with extreme seriousness,
+the high theme of perfection.&nbsp; It must be said in
+extenuation of this eccentricity that they were interested in the
+business.&nbsp; Their tone had truth and their emotion beauty;
+they weren&rsquo;t posturing for each other or for some one
+else.</p>
+<p>The subject was so wide that they found themselves reducing
+it; the perfection to which for the moment they agreed to confine
+their speculations was that of the valid, the exemplary work of
+art.&nbsp; Our young woman&rsquo;s imagination, it appeared, had
+wandered far in that direction, and her guest had the rare
+delight of feeling in their conversation a full
+interchange.&nbsp; This episode will have lived for years in his
+memory and even in his wonder; it had the quality that fortune
+distils in a single drop at a time&mdash;the quality that
+lubricates many ensuing frictions.&nbsp; He still, whenever he
+likes, has a vision of the room, the bright red sociable
+talkative room with the curtains that, by a stroke of successful
+audacity, had the note of vivid blue.&nbsp; He remembers where
+certain things stood, the particular book open on the table and
+the almost intense odour of the flowers placed, at the left,
+somewhere behind him.&nbsp; These facts were the fringe, as it
+were, of a fine special agitation which had its birth in those
+two hours and of which perhaps the main sign was in its leading
+him inwardly and repeatedly to breathe &ldquo;I had no idea there
+was any one like this&mdash;I had no idea there was any one like
+this!&rdquo;&nbsp; Her freedom amazed him and charmed
+him&mdash;it seemed so to simplify the practical question.&nbsp;
+She was on the footing of an independent personage&mdash;a
+motherless girl who had passed out of her teens and had a
+position and responsibilities, who wasn&rsquo;t held down to the
+limitations of a little miss.&nbsp; She came and went with no
+dragged duenna, she received people alone, and, though she was
+totally without hardness, the question of protection or patronage
+had no relevancy in regard to her.&nbsp; She gave such an
+impression of the clear and the noble combined with the easy and
+the natural that in spite of her eminent modern situation she
+suggested no sort of sister-hood with the &ldquo;fast&rdquo;
+girl.&nbsp; Modern she was indeed, and made Paul Overt, who loved
+old colour, the golden glaze of time, think with some alarm of
+the muddled palette of the future.&nbsp; He couldn&rsquo;t get
+used to her interest in the arts he cared for; it seemed too good
+to be real&mdash;it was so unlikely an adventure to tumble into
+such a well of sympathy.&nbsp; One might stray into the desert
+easily&mdash;that was on the cards and that was the law of life;
+but it was too rare an accident to stumble on a crystal
+well.&nbsp; Yet if her aspirations seemed at one moment too
+extravagant to be real they struck him at the next as too
+intelligent to be false.&nbsp; They were both high and lame, and,
+whims for whims, he preferred them to any he had met in a like
+relation.&nbsp; It was probable enough she would leave them
+behind&mdash;exchange them for politics or
+&ldquo;smartness&rdquo; or mere prolific maternity, as was the
+custom of scribbling daubing educated flattered girls in an age
+of luxury and a society of leisure.&nbsp; He noted that the
+water-colours on the walls of the room she sat in had mainly the
+quality of being na&iuml;ves, and reflected that
+na&iuml;vet&eacute; in art is like a zero in a number: its
+importance depends on the figure it is united with.&nbsp;
+Meanwhile, however, he had fallen in love with her.&nbsp; Before
+he went away, at any rate, he said to her: &ldquo;I thought St.
+George was coming to see you to-day, but he doesn&rsquo;t turn
+up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a moment he supposed she was going to cry &ldquo;Comment
+donc?&nbsp; Did you come here only to meet him?&rdquo;&nbsp; But
+the next he became aware of how little such a speech would have
+fallen in with any note of flirtation he had as yet perceived in
+her.&nbsp; She only replied: &ldquo;Ah yes, but I don&rsquo;t
+think he&rsquo;ll come.&nbsp; He recommended me not to expect
+him.&rdquo;&nbsp; Then she gaily but all gently added: &ldquo;He
+said it wasn&rsquo;t fair to you.&nbsp; But I think I could
+manage two.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So could I,&rdquo; Paul Overt returned, stretching the
+point a little to meet her.&nbsp; In reality his appreciation of
+the occasion was so completely an appreciation of the woman
+before him that another figure in the scene, even so esteemed a
+one as St. George, might for the hour have appealed to him
+vainly.&nbsp; He left the house wondering what the great man had
+meant by its not being fair to him; and, still more than that,
+whether he had actually stayed away from the force of that
+idea.&nbsp; As he took his course through the Sunday solitude of
+Manchester Square, swinging his stick and with a good deal of
+emotion fermenting in his soul, it appeared to him he was living
+in a world strangely magnanimous.&nbsp; Miss Fancourt had told
+him it was possible she should be away, and that her father
+should be, on the following Sunday, but that she had the hope of
+a visit from him in the other event.&nbsp; She promised to let
+him know should their absence fail, and then he might act
+accordingly.&nbsp; After he had passed into one of the streets
+that open from the Square he stopped, without definite
+intentions, looking sceptically for a cab.&nbsp; In a moment he
+saw a hansom roll through the place from the other side and come
+a part of the way toward him.&nbsp; He was on the point of
+hailing the driver when he noticed a &ldquo;fare&rdquo; within;
+then he waited, seeing the man prepare to deposit his passenger
+by pulling up at one of the houses.&nbsp; The house was
+apparently the one he himself had just quitted; at least he drew
+that inference as he recognised Henry St. George in the person
+who stepped out of the hansom.&nbsp; Paul turned off as quickly
+as if he had been caught in the act of spying.&nbsp; He gave up
+his cab&mdash;he preferred to walk; he would go nowhere
+else.&nbsp; He was glad St. George hadn&rsquo;t renounced his
+visit altogether&mdash;that would have been too absurd.&nbsp;
+Yes, the world was magnanimous, and even he himself felt so as,
+on looking at his watch, he noted but six o&rsquo;clock, so that
+he could mentally congratulate his successor on having an hour
+still to sit in Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s drawing-room.&nbsp; He
+himself might use that hour for another visit, but by the time he
+reached the Marble Arch the idea of such a course had become
+incongruous to him.&nbsp; He passed beneath that architectural
+effort and walked into the Park till he got upon the spreading
+grass.&nbsp; Here he continued to walk; he took his way across
+the elastic turf and came out by the Serpentine.&nbsp; He watched
+with a friendly eye the diversions of the London people, he bent
+a glance almost encouraging on the young ladies paddling their
+sweethearts about the lake and the guardsmen tickling tenderly
+with their bearskins the artificial flowers in the Sunday hats of
+their partners.&nbsp; He prolonged his meditative walk; he went
+into Kensington Gardens, he sat upon the penny chairs, he looked
+at the little sail-boats launched upon the round pond and was
+glad he had no engagement to dine.&nbsp; He repaired for this
+purpose, very late, to his club, where he found himself unable to
+order a repast and told the waiter to bring whatever there
+was.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t even observe what he was served with,
+and he spent the evening in the library of the establishment,
+pretending to read an article in an American magazine.&nbsp; He
+failed to discover what it was about; it appeared in a dim way to
+be about Marian Fancourt.</p>
+<p>Quite late in the week she wrote to him that she was not to go
+into the country&mdash;it had only just been settled.&nbsp; Her
+father, she added, would never settle anything, but put it all on
+her.&nbsp; She felt her responsibility&mdash;she had to&mdash;and
+since she was forced this was the way she had decided.&nbsp; She
+mentioned no reasons, which gave our friend all the clearer field
+for bold conjecture about them.&nbsp; In Manchester Square on
+this second Sunday he esteemed his fortune less good, for she had
+three or four other visitors.&nbsp; But there were three or four
+compensations; perhaps the greatest of which was that, learning
+how her father had after all, at the last hour, gone out of town
+alone, the bold conjecture I just now spoke of found itself
+becoming a shade more bold.&nbsp; And then her presence was her
+presence, and the personal red room was there and was full of it,
+whatever phantoms passed and vanished, emitting incomprehensible
+sounds.&nbsp; Lastly, he had the resource of staying till every
+one had come and gone and of believing this grateful to her,
+though she gave no particular sign.&nbsp; When they were alone
+together he came to his point.&nbsp; &ldquo;But St. George did
+come&mdash;last Sunday.&nbsp; I saw him as I looked
+back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; but it was the last time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The last time?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said he would never come again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul Overt stared.&nbsp; &ldquo;Does he mean he wishes to
+cease to see you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what he means,&rdquo; the girl
+bravely smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;He won&rsquo;t at any rate see me
+here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And pray why not?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t the least idea,&rdquo; said Marian
+Fancourt, whose visitor found her more perversely sublime than
+ever yet as she professed this clear helplessness.</p>
+<h2><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>V</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Oh</span> I say, I want you to stop
+a little,&rdquo; Henry St. George said to him at eleven
+o&rsquo;clock the night he dined with the head of the
+profession.&nbsp; The company&mdash;none of it indeed <i>of</i>
+the profession&mdash;had been numerous and was taking its leave;
+our young man, after bidding good-night to his hostess, had put
+out his hand in farewell to the master of the house.&nbsp;
+Besides drawing from the latter the protest I have cited this
+movement provoked a further priceless word about their chance now
+to have a talk, their going into his room, his having still
+everything to say.&nbsp; Paul Overt was all delight at this
+kindness; nevertheless he mentioned in weak jocose qualification
+the bare fact that he had promised to go to another place which
+was at a considerable distance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well then you&rsquo;ll break your promise, that&rsquo;s
+all.&nbsp; You quite awful humbug!&rdquo; St. George added in a
+tone that confirmed our young man&rsquo;s ease.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly I&rsquo;ll break it&mdash;but it was a real
+promise.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean to Miss Fancourt?&nbsp; You&rsquo;re
+following her?&rdquo; his friend asked.</p>
+<p>He answered by a question.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh is <i>she</i>
+going?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Base impostor!&rdquo; his ironic host went on.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve treated you handsomely on the article of that
+young lady: I won&rsquo;t make another concession.&nbsp; Wait
+three minutes&mdash;I&rsquo;ll be with you.&rdquo;&nbsp; He gave
+himself to his departing guests, accompanied the long-trained
+ladies to the door.&nbsp; It was a hot night, the windows were
+open, the sound of the quick carriages and of the linkmen&rsquo;s
+call came into the house.&nbsp; The affair had rather glittered;
+a sense of festal things was in the heavy air: not only the
+influence of that particular entertainment, but the suggestion of
+the wide hurry of pleasure which in London on summer nights fills
+so many of the happier quarters of the complicated town.&nbsp;
+Gradually Mrs. St. George&rsquo;s drawing-room emptied itself;
+Paul was left alone with his hostess, to whom he explained the
+motive of his waiting.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah yes, some intellectual,
+some <i>professional</i>, talk,&rdquo; she leered; &ldquo;at this
+season doesn&rsquo;t one miss it?&nbsp; Poor dear Henry,
+I&rsquo;m so glad!&rdquo;&nbsp; The young man looked out of the
+window a moment, at the called hansoms that lurched up, at the
+smooth broughams that rolled away.&nbsp; When he turned round
+Mrs. St. George had disappeared; her husband&rsquo;s voice rose
+to him from below&mdash;he was laughing and talking, in the
+portico, with some lady who awaited her carriage.&nbsp; Paul had
+solitary possession, for some minutes, of the warm deserted rooms
+where the covered tinted lamplight was soft, the seats had been
+pushed about and the odour of flowers lingered.&nbsp; They were
+large, they were pretty, they contained objects of value;
+everything in the picture told of a &ldquo;good
+house.&rdquo;&nbsp; At the end of five minutes a servant came in
+with a request from the Master that he would join him downstairs;
+upon which, descending, he followed his conductor through a long
+passage to an apartment thrown out, in the rear of the
+habitation, for the special requirements, as he guessed, of a
+busy man of letters.</p>
+<p>St. George was in his shirt-sleeves in the middle of a large
+high room&mdash;a room without windows, but with a wide skylight
+at the top, that of a place of exhibition.&nbsp; It was furnished
+as a library, and the serried bookshelves rose to the ceiling, a
+surface of incomparable tone produced by dimly-gilt
+&ldquo;backs&rdquo; interrupted here and there by the suspension
+of old prints and drawings.&nbsp; At the end furthest from the
+door of admission was a tall desk, of great extent, at which the
+person using it could write only in the erect posture of a clerk
+in a counting-house; and stretched from the entrance to this
+structure was a wide plain band of crimson cloth, as straight as
+a garden-path and almost as long, where, in his mind&rsquo;s eye,
+Paul at once beheld the Master pace to and fro during vexed
+hours&mdash;hours, that is, of admirable composition.&nbsp; The
+servant gave him a coat, an old jacket with a hang of experience,
+from a cupboard in the wall, retiring afterwards with the garment
+he had taken off.&nbsp; Paul Overt welcomed the coat; it was a
+coat for talk, it promised confidences&mdash;having visibly
+received so many&mdash;and had tragic literary elbows.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Ah we&rsquo;re practical&mdash;we&rsquo;re
+practical!&rdquo; St. George said as he saw his visitor look the
+place over.&nbsp; &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it a good big cage for going
+round and round?&nbsp; My wife invented it and she locks me up
+here every morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our young man breathed&mdash;by way of tribute&mdash;with a
+certain oppression.&nbsp; &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t miss a
+window&mdash;a place to look out?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did at first awfully; but her calculation was
+just.&nbsp; It saves time, it has saved me many months in these
+ten years.&nbsp; Here I stand, under the eye of day&mdash;in
+London of course, very often, it&rsquo;s rather a bleared old
+eye&mdash;walled in to my trade.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t get
+away&mdash;so the room&rsquo;s a fine lesson in
+concentration.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve learnt the lesson, I think; look
+at that big bundle of proof and acknowledge it.&rdquo;&nbsp; He
+pointed to a fat roll of papers, on one of the tables, which had
+not been undone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you bringing out another&mdash;?&rdquo; Paul asked
+in a tone the fond deficiencies of which he didn&rsquo;t
+recognise till his companion burst out laughing, and indeed
+scarce even then.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You humbug, you humbug!&rdquo;&mdash;St. George
+appeared to enjoy caressing him, as it were, with that
+opprobrium.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t I know what you think of
+them?&rdquo; he asked, standing there with his hands in his
+pockets and with a new kind of smile.&nbsp; It was as if he were
+going to let his young votary see him all now.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Upon my word in that case you know more than I
+do!&rdquo; the latter ventured to respond, revealing a part of
+the torment of being able neither clearly to esteem nor
+distinctly to renounce him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow,&rdquo; said the more and more
+interesting Master, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t imagine I talk about my
+books specifically; they&rsquo;re not a decent subject&mdash;il
+ne manquerait plus que &ccedil;a!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not so bad as
+you may apprehend!&nbsp; About myself, yes, a little, if you
+like; though it wasn&rsquo;t for that I brought you down
+here.&nbsp; I want to ask you something&mdash;very much indeed; I
+value this chance.&nbsp; Therefore sit down.&nbsp; We&rsquo;re
+practical, but there <i>is</i> a sofa, you see&mdash;for she does
+humour my poor bones so far.&nbsp; Like all really great
+administrators and disciplinarians she knows when wisely to
+relax.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul sank into the corner of a deep leathern
+couch, but his friend remained standing and explanatory.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t mind, in this room, this is my
+habit.&nbsp; From the door to the desk and from the desk to the
+door.&nbsp; That shakes up my imagination gently; and don&rsquo;t
+you see what a good thing it is that there&rsquo;s no window for
+her to fly out of?&nbsp; The eternal standing as I write (I stop
+at that bureau and put it down, when anything comes, and so we go
+on) was rather wearisome at first, but we adopted it with an eye
+to the long run; you&rsquo;re in better order&mdash;if your legs
+don&rsquo;t break down!&mdash;and you can keep it up for more
+years.&nbsp; Oh we&rsquo;re practical&mdash;we&rsquo;re
+practical!&rdquo; St. George repeated, going to the table and
+taking up all mechanically the bundle of proofs.&nbsp; But,
+pulling off the wrapper, he had a change of attention that
+appealed afresh to our hero.&nbsp; He lost himself a moment,
+examining the sheets of his new book, while the younger
+man&rsquo;s eyes wandered over the room again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lord, what good things I should do if I had such a
+charming place as this to do them in!&rdquo; Paul
+reflected.&nbsp; The outer world, the world of accident and
+ugliness, was so successfully excluded, and within the rich
+protecting square, beneath the patronising sky, the
+dream-figures, the summoned company, could hold their particular
+revel.&nbsp; It was a fond prevision of Overt&rsquo;s rather than
+an observation on actual data, for which occasions had been too
+few, that the Master thus more closely viewed would have the
+quality, the charming gift, of flashing out, all surprisingly, in
+personal intercourse and at moments of suspended or perhaps even
+of diminished expectation.&nbsp; A happy relation with him would
+be a thing proceeding by jumps, not by traceable stages.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you read them&mdash;really?&rdquo; he asked, laying
+down the proofs on Paul&rsquo;s enquiring of him how soon the
+work would be published.&nbsp; And when the young man answered
+&ldquo;Oh yes, always,&rdquo; he was moved to mirth again by
+something he caught in his manner of saying that.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You go to see your grandmother on her birthday&mdash;and
+very proper it is, especially as she won&rsquo;t last for
+ever.&nbsp; She has lost every faculty and every sense; she
+neither sees, nor hears, nor speaks; but all customary pieties
+and kindly habits are respectable.&nbsp; Only you&rsquo;re strong
+if you <i>do</i> read &rsquo;em!&nbsp; <i>I</i> couldn&rsquo;t,
+my dear fellow.&nbsp; You are strong, I know; and that&rsquo;s
+just a part of what I wanted to say to you.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re
+very strong indeed.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve been going into your other
+things&mdash;they&rsquo;ve interested me immensely.&nbsp; Some
+one ought to have told me about them before&mdash;some one I
+could believe.&nbsp; But whom can one believe?&nbsp; You&rsquo;re
+wonderfully on the right road&mdash;it&rsquo;s awfully decent
+work.&nbsp; Now do you mean to keep it up?&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+what I want to ask you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do I mean to do others?&rdquo; Paul asked, looking up
+from his sofa at his erect inquisitor and feeling partly like a
+happy little boy when the school-master is gay, and partly like
+some pilgrim of old who might have consulted a world-famous
+oracle.&nbsp; St. George&rsquo;s own performance had been infirm,
+but as an adviser he would be infallible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Others&mdash;others?&nbsp; Ah the number won&rsquo;t
+matter; one other would do, if it were really a further
+step&mdash;a throb of the same effort.&nbsp; What I mean is have
+you it in your heart to go in for some sort of decent
+perfection?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah decency, ah perfection&mdash;!&rdquo; the young man
+sincerely sighed.&nbsp; &ldquo;I talked of them the other Sunday
+with Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It produced on the Master&rsquo;s part a laugh of odd
+acrimony.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes, they&rsquo;ll &lsquo;talk&rsquo; of
+them as much as you like!&nbsp; But they&rsquo;ll do little to
+help one to them.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no obligation of course;
+only you strike me as capable,&rdquo; he went on.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You must have thought it all over.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t
+believe you&rsquo;re without a plan.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s the
+sensation you give me, and it&rsquo;s so rare that it really
+stirs one up&mdash;it makes you remarkable.&nbsp; If you
+haven&rsquo;t a plan, if you <i>don&rsquo;t</i> mean to keep it
+up, surely you&rsquo;re within your rights; it&rsquo;s
+nobody&rsquo;s business, no one can force you, and not more than
+two or three people will notice you don&rsquo;t go
+straight.&nbsp; The others&mdash;<i>all</i> the rest, every blest
+soul in England, will think you do&mdash;will think you are
+keeping it up: upon my honour they will!&nbsp; I shall be one of
+the two or three who know better.&nbsp; Now the question is
+whether you can do it for two or three.&nbsp; Is that the stuff
+you&rsquo;re made of?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It locked his guest a minute as in closed throbbing
+arms.&nbsp; &ldquo;I could do it for one, if you were the
+one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that; I don&rsquo;t deserve it; it
+scorches me,&rdquo; he protested with eyes suddenly grave and
+glowing.&nbsp; &ldquo;The &lsquo;one&rsquo; is of course
+one&rsquo;s self, one&rsquo;s conscience, one&rsquo;s idea, the
+singleness of one&rsquo;s aim.&nbsp; I think of that pure spirit
+as a man thinks of a woman he has in some detested hour of his
+youth loved and forsaken.&nbsp; She haunts him with reproachful
+eyes, she lives for ever before him.&nbsp; As an artist, you
+know, I&rsquo;ve married for money.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul stared and
+even blushed a little, confounded by this avowal; whereupon his
+host, observing the expression of his face, dropped a quick laugh
+and pursued: &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t follow my figure.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m not speaking of my dear wife, who had a small
+fortune&mdash;which, however, was not my bribe.&nbsp; I fell in
+love with her, as many other people have done.&nbsp; I refer to
+the mercenary muse whom I led to the altar of literature.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t, my boy, put your nose into <i>that</i> yoke.&nbsp;
+The awful jade will lead you a life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our hero watched him, wondering and deeply touched.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you been happy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Happy?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a kind of hell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are things I should like to ask you,&rdquo; Paul
+said after a pause.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ask me anything in all the world.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d turn
+myself inside out to save you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To &lsquo;save&rsquo; me?&rdquo; he quavered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To make you stick to it&mdash;to make you see it
+through.&nbsp; As I said to you the other night at Summersoft,
+let my example be vivid to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why your books are not so bad as that,&rdquo; said
+Paul, fairly laughing and feeling that if ever a fellow had
+breathed the air of art&mdash;!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So bad as what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your talent&rsquo;s so great that it&rsquo;s in
+everything you do, in what&rsquo;s less good as well as in
+what&rsquo;s best.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve some forty volumes to show
+for it&mdash;forty volumes of wonderful life, of rare
+observation, of magnificent ability.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very clever, of course I know
+that&rdquo;&mdash;but it was a thing, in fine, this author made
+nothing of.&nbsp; &ldquo;Lord, what rot they&rsquo;d all be if I
+hadn&rsquo;t been I&rsquo;m a successful charlatan,&rdquo; he
+went on&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been able to pass off my
+system.&nbsp; But do you know what it is?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+cartonpierre.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Carton-pierre?&rdquo; Paul was struck, and gaped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lincrusta-Walton!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah don&rsquo;t say such things&mdash;you make me
+bleed!&rdquo; the younger man protested.&nbsp; &ldquo;I see you
+in a beautiful fortunate home, living in comfort and
+honour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you call it honour?&rdquo;&mdash;his host took him
+up with an intonation that often comes back to him.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I want <i>you</i> to go in for.&nbsp; I
+mean the real thing.&nbsp; This is brummagem.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Brummagem?&rdquo; Paul ejaculated while his eyes
+wandered, by a movement natural at the moment, over the luxurious
+room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah they make it so well to-day&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+wonderfully deceptive!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our friend thrilled with the interest and perhaps even more
+with the pity of it.&nbsp; Yet he wasn&rsquo;t afraid to seem to
+patronise when he could still so far envy.&nbsp; &ldquo;Is it
+deceptive that I find you living with every appearance of
+domestic felicity&mdash;blest with a devoted, accomplished wife,
+with children whose acquaintance I haven&rsquo;t yet had the
+pleasure of making, but who <i>must</i> be delightful young
+people, from what I know of their parents?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George smiled as for the candour of his question.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all excellent, my dear fellow&mdash;heaven
+forbid I should deny it.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve made a great deal of
+money; my wife has known how to take care of it, to use it
+without wasting it, to put a good bit of it by, to make it
+fructify.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got a loaf on the shelf; I&rsquo;ve
+got everything in fact but the great thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The great thing?&rdquo; Paul kept echoing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sense of having done the best&mdash;the sense which
+is the real life of the artist and the absence of which is his
+death, of having drawn from his intellectual instrument the
+finest music that nature had hidden in it, of having played it as
+it should be played.&nbsp; He either does that or he
+doesn&rsquo;t&mdash;and if he doesn&rsquo;t he isn&rsquo;t worth
+speaking of.&nbsp; Therefore, precisely, those who really know
+<i>don&rsquo;t</i> speak of him.&nbsp; He may still hear a great
+chatter, but what he hears most is the incorruptible silence of
+Fame.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve squared her, you may say, for my little
+hour&mdash;but what&rsquo;s my little hour?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t
+imagine for a moment,&rdquo; the Master pursued, &ldquo;that
+I&rsquo;m such a cad as to have brought you down here to abuse or
+to complain of my wife to you.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a woman of
+distinguished qualities, to whom my obligations are immense; so
+that, if you please, we&rsquo;ll say nothing about her.&nbsp; My
+boys&mdash;my children are all boys&mdash;are straight and
+strong, thank God, and have no poverty of growth about them, no
+penury of needs.&nbsp; I receive periodically the most
+satisfactory attestation from Harrow, from Oxford, from
+Sandhurst&mdash;oh we&rsquo;ve done the best for them!&mdash;of
+their eminence as living thriving consuming organisms.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It must be delightful to feel that the son of
+one&rsquo;s loins is at Sandhurst,&rdquo; Paul remarked
+enthusiastically.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is&mdash;it&rsquo;s charming.&nbsp; Oh I&rsquo;m a
+patriot!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man then could but have the greater tribute of
+questions to pay.&nbsp; &ldquo;Then what did you mean&mdash;the
+other night at Summersoft&mdash;by saying that children are a
+curse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear youth, on what basis are we talking?&rdquo; and
+St. George dropped upon the sofa at a short distance from
+him.&nbsp; Sitting a little sideways he leaned back against the
+opposite arm with his hands raised and interlocked behind his
+head.&nbsp; &ldquo;On the supposition that a certain
+perfection&rsquo;s possible and even desirable&mdash;isn&rsquo;t
+it so?&nbsp; Well, all I say is that one&rsquo;s children
+interfere with perfection.&nbsp; One&rsquo;s wife
+interferes.&nbsp; Marriage interferes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think then the artist shouldn&rsquo;t
+marry?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He does so at his peril&mdash;he does so at his
+cost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not even when his wife&rsquo;s in sympathy with his
+work?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She never is&mdash;she can&rsquo;t be!&nbsp; Women
+haven&rsquo;t a conception of such things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely they on occasion work themselves,&rdquo; Paul
+objected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, very badly indeed.&nbsp; Oh of course, often, they
+think they understand, they think they sympathise.&nbsp; Then it
+is they&rsquo;re most dangerous.&nbsp; Their idea is that you
+shall do a great lot and get a great lot of money.&nbsp; Their
+great nobleness and virtue, their exemplary conscientiousness as
+British females, is in keeping you up to that.&nbsp; My wife
+makes all my bargains with my publishers for me, and has done so
+for twenty years.&nbsp; She does it consummately
+well&mdash;that&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;m really pretty well
+off.&nbsp; Aren&rsquo;t you the father of their innocent babes,
+and will you withhold from them their natural sustenance?&nbsp;
+You asked me the other night if they&rsquo;re not an immense
+incentive.&nbsp; Of course they are&mdash;there&rsquo;s no doubt
+of that!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul turned it over: it took, from eyes he had never felt open
+so wide, so much looking at.&nbsp; &ldquo;For myself I&rsquo;ve
+an idea I need incentives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah well then, n&rsquo;en parlons plus!&rdquo; his
+companion handsomely smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>You</i> are an incentive, I maintain,&rdquo; the
+young man went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t affect me in the
+way you&rsquo;d apparently like to.&nbsp; Your great success is
+what I see&mdash;the pomp of Ennismore Gardens!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Success?&rdquo;&mdash;St. George&rsquo;s eyes had a
+cold fine light.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you call it success to be spoken
+of as you&rsquo;d speak of me if you were sitting here with
+another artist&mdash;a young man intelligent and sincere like
+yourself?&nbsp; Do you call it success to make you blush&mdash;as
+you would blush!&mdash;if some foreign critic (some fellow, of
+course I mean, who should know what he was talking about and
+should have shown you he did, as foreign critics like to show it)
+were to say to you: &lsquo;He&rsquo;s the one, in this country,
+whom they consider the most perfect, isn&rsquo;t he?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Is it success to be the occasion of a young Englishman&rsquo;s
+having to stammer as you would have to stammer at such a moment
+for old England?&nbsp; No, no; success is to have made people
+wriggle to another tune.&nbsp; Do try it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul continued all gravely to glow.&nbsp; &ldquo;Try
+what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try to do some really good work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I want to, heaven knows!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you can&rsquo;t do it without
+sacrifices&mdash;don&rsquo;t believe that for a moment,&rdquo;
+the Master said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve made none.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve had everything.&nbsp; In other words I&rsquo;ve missed
+everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve had the full rich masculine human general
+life, with all the responsibilities and duties and burdens and
+sorrows and joys&mdash;all the domestic and social initiations
+and complications.&nbsp; They must be immensely suggestive,
+immensely amusing,&rdquo; Paul anxiously submitted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amusing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For a strong man&mdash;yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve given me subjects without number, if
+that&rsquo;s what you mean; but they&rsquo;ve taken away at the
+same time the power to use them.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve touched a
+thousand things, but which one of them have I turned into
+gold?&nbsp; The artist has to do only with that&mdash;he knows
+nothing of any baser metal.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve led the life of the
+world, with my wife and my progeny; the clumsy conventional
+expensive materialised vulgarised brutalised life of
+London.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve got everything handsome, even a
+carriage&mdash;we&rsquo;re perfect Philistines and prosperous
+hospitable eminent people.&nbsp; But, my dear fellow, don&rsquo;t
+try to stultify yourself and pretend you don&rsquo;t know what we
+<i>haven&rsquo;t</i> got.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s bigger than all the
+rest.&nbsp; Between artists&mdash;come!&rdquo; the Master wound
+up.&nbsp; &ldquo;You know as well as you sit there that
+you&rsquo;d put a pistol-ball into your brain if you had written
+my books!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It struck his listener that the tremendous talk promised by
+him at Summersoft had indeed come off, and with a promptitude, a
+fulness, with which the latter&rsquo;s young imagination had
+scarcely reckoned.&nbsp; His impression fairly shook him and he
+throbbed with the excitement of such deep soundings and such
+strange confidences.&nbsp; He throbbed indeed with the conflict
+of his feelings&mdash;bewilderment and recognition and alarm,
+enjoyment and protest and assent, all commingled with tenderness
+(and a kind of shame in the participation) for the sores and
+bruises exhibited by so fine a creature, and with a sense of the
+tragic secret nursed under his trappings.&nbsp; The idea of
+<i>his</i>, Paul Overt&rsquo;s, becoming the occasion of such an
+act of humility made him flush and pant, at the same time that
+his consciousness was in certain directions too much alive not to
+swallow&mdash;and not intensely to taste&mdash;every offered
+spoonful of the revelation.&nbsp; It had been his odd fortune to
+blow upon the deep waters, to make them surge and break in waves
+of strange eloquence.&nbsp; But how couldn&rsquo;t he give out a
+passionate contradiction of his host&rsquo;s last extravagance,
+how couldn&rsquo;t he enumerate to him the parts of his work he
+loved, the splendid things he had found in it, beyond the compass
+of any other writer of the day?&nbsp; St. George listened a
+while, courteously; then he said, laying his hand on his
+visitor&rsquo;s: &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all very well; and if your
+idea&rsquo;s to do nothing better there&rsquo;s no reason you
+shouldn&rsquo;t have as many good things as I&mdash;as many human
+and material appendages, as many sons or daughters, a wife with
+as many gowns, a house with as many servants, a stable with as
+many horses, a heart with as many aches.&rdquo;&nbsp; The Master
+got up when he had spoken thus&mdash;he stood a moment&mdash;near
+the sofa looking down on his agitated pupil.&nbsp; &ldquo;Are you
+possessed of any property?&rdquo; it occurred to him to ask.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None to speak of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh well then there&rsquo;s no reason why you
+shouldn&rsquo;t make a goodish income&mdash;if you set about it
+the right way.&nbsp; Study <i>me</i> for that&mdash;study me
+well.&nbsp; You may really have horses.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul sat there some minutes without speaking.&nbsp; He looked
+straight before him&mdash;he turned over many things.&nbsp; His
+friend had wandered away, taking up a parcel of letters from the
+table where the roll of proofs had lain.&nbsp; &ldquo;What was
+the book Mrs. St. George made you burn&mdash;the one she
+didn&rsquo;t like?&rdquo; our young man brought out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The book she made me burn&mdash;how did you know
+that?&rdquo;&nbsp; The Master looked up from his letters quite
+without the facial convulsion the pupil had feared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I heard her speak of it at Summersoft.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes&mdash;she&rsquo;s proud of it.&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t know&mdash;it was rather good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What was it about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me see.&rdquo;&nbsp; And he seemed to make an
+effort to remember.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh yes&mdash;it was about
+myself.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul gave an irrepressible groan for the
+disappearance of such a production, and the elder man went on:
+&ldquo;Oh but <i>you</i> should write it&mdash;<i>you</i> should
+do me.&rdquo;&nbsp; And he pulled up&mdash;from the restless
+motion that had come upon him; his fine smile a generous
+glare.&nbsp; &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a subject, my boy: no end of
+stuff in it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Again Paul was silent, but it was all tormenting.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Are there no women who really understand&mdash;who can
+take part in a sacrifice?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How can they take part?&nbsp; They themselves are the
+sacrifice.&nbsp; They&rsquo;re the idol and the altar and the
+flame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there even <i>one</i> who sees
+further?&rdquo; Paul continued.</p>
+<p>For a moment St. George made no answer; after which, having
+torn up his letters, he came back to the point all ironic.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Of course I know the one you mean.&nbsp; But not even Miss
+Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you admired her so much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s impossible to admire her more.&nbsp; Are you
+in love with her?&rdquo; St. George asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Paul Overt presently said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well then give it up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul stared.&nbsp; &ldquo;Give up my
+&lsquo;love&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bless me, no.&nbsp; Your idea.&rdquo;&nbsp; And then as
+our hero but still gazed: &ldquo;The one you talked with her
+about.&nbsp; The idea of a decent perfection.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;d help it&mdash;she&rsquo;d help it!&rdquo;
+the young man cried.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For about a year&mdash;the first year, yes.&nbsp; After
+that she&rsquo;d be as a millstone round its neck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul frankly wondered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why she has a passion for
+the real thing, for good work&mdash;for everything you and I care
+for most.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;You and I&rsquo; is charming, my dear
+fellow!&rdquo; his friend laughed.&nbsp; &ldquo;She has it
+indeed, but she&rsquo;d have a still greater passion for her
+children&mdash;and very proper too.&nbsp; She&rsquo;d insist on
+everything&rsquo;s being made comfortable, advantageous,
+propitious for them.&nbsp; That isn&rsquo;t the artist&rsquo;s
+business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The artist&mdash;the artist!&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t he a man
+all the same?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George had a grand grimace.&nbsp; &ldquo;I mostly think
+not.&nbsp; You know as well as I what he has to do: the
+concentration, the finish, the independence he must strive for
+from the moment he begins to wish his work really decent.&nbsp;
+Ah my young friend, his relation to women, and especially to the
+one he&rsquo;s most intimately concerned with, is at the mercy of
+the damning fact that whereas he can in the nature of things have
+but one standard, they have about fifty.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what
+makes them so superior,&rdquo; St. George amusingly added.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Fancy an artist with a change of standards as you&rsquo;d
+have a change of shirts or of dinner-plates.&nbsp; To <i>do</i>
+it&mdash;to do it and make it divine&mdash;is the only thing he
+has to think about.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is it done or not?&rsquo; is his
+only question.&nbsp; Not &lsquo;Is it done as well as a proper
+solicitude for my dear little family will allow?&rsquo;&nbsp; He
+has nothing to do with the relative&mdash;he has only to do with
+the absolute; and a dear little family may represent a dozen
+relatives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you don&rsquo;t allow him the common passions and
+affections of men?&rdquo; Paul asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t he a passion, an affection, which includes
+all the rest?&nbsp; Besides, let him have all the passions he
+likes&mdash;if he only keeps his independence.&nbsp; He must be
+able to be poor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul slowly got up.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why then did you advise me to
+make up to her?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George laid his hand on his shoulder.&nbsp; &ldquo;Because
+she&rsquo;d make a splendid wife!&nbsp; And I hadn&rsquo;t read
+you then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man had a strained smile.&nbsp; &ldquo;I wish you
+had left me alone!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know that that wasn&rsquo;t good enough
+for you,&rdquo; his host returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a false position, what a condemnation of the
+artist, that he&rsquo;s a mere disfranchised monk and can produce
+his effect only by giving up personal happiness.&nbsp; What an
+arraignment of art!&rdquo; Paul went on with a trembling
+voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you don&rsquo;t imagine by chance that I&rsquo;m
+defending art?&nbsp; &lsquo;Arraignment&rsquo;&mdash;I should
+think so!&nbsp; Happy the societies in which it hasn&rsquo;t made
+its appearance, for from the moment it comes they have a
+consuming ache, they have an incurable corruption, in their
+breast.&nbsp; Most assuredly is the artist in a false
+position!&nbsp; But I thought we were taking him for
+granted.&nbsp; Pardon me,&rdquo; St. George continued:
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Ginistrella&rsquo; made me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul stood looking at the floor&mdash;one o&rsquo;clock
+struck, in the stillness, from a neighbouring church-tower.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Do you think she&rsquo;d ever look at me?&rdquo; he put to
+his friend at last.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Fancourt&mdash;as a suitor?&nbsp; Why
+shouldn&rsquo;t I think it?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;ve
+tried to favour you&mdash;I&rsquo;ve had a little chance or two
+of bettering your opportunity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive my asking you, but do you mean by keeping away
+yourself?&rdquo; Paul said with a blush.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m an old idiot&mdash;my place isn&rsquo;t
+there,&rdquo; St. George stated gravely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m nothing yet, I&rsquo;ve no fortune; and there
+must be so many others,&rdquo; his companion pursued.</p>
+<p>The Master took this considerably in, but made little of
+it.&nbsp; &ldquo;You&rsquo;re a gentleman and a man of
+genius.&nbsp; I think you might do something.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But if I must give that up&mdash;the genius?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lots of people, you know, think I&rsquo;ve kept
+mine,&rdquo; St. George wonderfully grinned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve a genius for mystification!&rdquo; Paul
+declared; but grasping his hand gratefully in attenuation of this
+judgement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor dear boy, I do worry you!&nbsp; But try, try, all
+the same.&nbsp; I think your chances are good and you&rsquo;ll
+win a great prize.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul held fast the other&rsquo;s hand a minute; he looked into
+the strange deep face.&nbsp; &ldquo;No, I <i>am</i> an
+artist&mdash;I can&rsquo;t help it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah show it then!&rdquo; St. George pleadingly broke
+out.&nbsp; &ldquo;Let me see before I die the thing I most want,
+the thing I yearn for: a life in which the
+passion&mdash;ours&mdash;is really intense.&nbsp; If you can be
+rare don&rsquo;t fail of it!&nbsp; Think what it is&mdash;how it
+counts&mdash;how it lives!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They had moved to the door and he had closed both his hands
+over his companion&rsquo;s.&nbsp; Here they paused again and our
+hero breathed deep.&nbsp; &ldquo;I want to live!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In what sense?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the greatest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well then stick to it&mdash;see it through.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With your sympathy&mdash;your help?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Count on that&mdash;you&rsquo;ll be a great figure to
+me.&nbsp; Count on my highest appreciation, my devotion.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;ll give me satisfaction&mdash;if that has any weight
+with you.&rdquo;&nbsp; After which, as Paul appeared still to
+waver, his host added: &ldquo;Do you remember what you said to me
+at Summersoft?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something infatuated, no doubt!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll do anything in the world you tell
+me.&rsquo;&nbsp; You said that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you hold me to it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah what am I?&rdquo; the Master expressively
+sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lord, what things I shall have to do!&rdquo; Paul
+almost moaned as be departed.</p>
+<h2><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+98</span>VI</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;<span class="smcap">It</span> goes on too much
+abroad&mdash;hang abroad!&rdquo;&nbsp; These or something like
+them had been the Master&rsquo;s remarkable words in relation to
+the action of &ldquo;Ginistrella&rdquo;; and yet, though they had
+made a sharp impression on the author of that work, like almost
+all spoken words from the same source, he a week after the
+conversation I have noted left England for a long absence and
+full of brave intentions.&nbsp; It is not a perversion of the
+truth to pronounce that encounter the direct cause of his
+departure.&nbsp; If the oral utterance of the eminent writer had
+the privilege of moving him deeply it was especially on his
+turning it over at leisure, hours and days later, that it
+appeared to yield him its full meaning and exhibit its extreme
+importance.&nbsp; He spent the summer in Switzerland and, having
+in September begun a new task, determined not to cross the Alps
+till he should have made a good start.&nbsp; To this end he
+returned to a quiet corner he knew well, on the edge of the Lake
+of Geneva and within sight of the towers of Chillon: a region and
+a view for which he had an affection that sprang from old
+associations and was capable of mysterious revivals and
+refreshments.&nbsp; Here he lingered late, till the snow was on
+the nearer hills, almost down to the limit to which he could
+climb when his stint, on the shortening afternoons, was
+performed.&nbsp; The autumn was fine, the lake was blue and his
+book took form and direction.&nbsp; These felicities, for the
+time, embroidered his life, which he suffered to cover him with
+its mantle.&nbsp; At the end of six weeks he felt he had learnt
+St. George&rsquo;s lesson by heart, had tested and proved its
+doctrine.&nbsp; Nevertheless he did a very inconsistent thing:
+before crossing the Alps he wrote to Marian Fancourt.&nbsp; He
+was aware of the perversity of this act, and it was only as a
+luxury, an amusement, the reward of a strenuous autumn, that he
+justified it.&nbsp; She had asked of him no such favour when,
+shortly before he left London, three days after their dinner in
+Ennismore Gardens, he went to take leave of her.&nbsp; It was
+true she had had no ground&mdash;he hadn&rsquo;t named his
+intention of absence.&nbsp; He had kept his counsel for want of
+due assurance: it was that particular visit that was, the next
+thing, to settle the matter.&nbsp; He had paid the visit to see
+how much he really cared for her, and quick departure, without so
+much as an explicit farewell, was the sequel to this enquiry, the
+answer to which had created within him a deep yearning.&nbsp;
+When he wrote her from Clarens he noted that he owed her an
+explanation (more than three months after!) for not having told
+her what he was doing.</p>
+<p>She replied now briefly but promptly, and gave him a striking
+piece of news: that of the death, a week before, of Mrs. St.
+George.&nbsp; This exemplary woman had succumbed, in the country,
+to a violent attack of inflammation of the lungs&mdash;he would
+remember that for a long time she had been delicate.&nbsp; Miss
+Fancourt added that she believed her husband overwhelmed by the
+blow; he would miss her too terribly&mdash;she had been
+everything in life to him.&nbsp; Paul Overt, on this, immediately
+wrote to St. George.&nbsp; He would from the day of their parting
+have been glad to remain in communication with him, but had
+hitherto lacked the right excuse for troubling so busy a
+man.&nbsp; Their long nocturnal talk came back to him in every
+detail, but this was no bar to an expression of proper sympathy
+with the head of the profession, for hadn&rsquo;t that very talk
+made it clear that the late accomplished lady was the influence
+that ruled his life?&nbsp; What catastrophe could be more cruel
+than the extinction of such an influence?&nbsp; This was to be
+exactly the tone taken by St. George in answering his young
+friend upwards of a month later.&nbsp; He made no allusion of
+course to their important discussion.&nbsp; He spoke of his wife
+as frankly and generously as if he had quite forgotten that
+occasion, and the feeling of deep bereavement was visible in his
+words.&nbsp; &ldquo;She took everything off my hands&mdash;off my
+mind.&nbsp; She carried on our life with the greatest art, the
+rarest devotion, and I was free, as few men can have been, to
+drive my pen, to shut myself up with my trade.&nbsp; This was a
+rare service&mdash;the highest she could have rendered me.&nbsp;
+Would I could have acknowledged it more fitly!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A certain bewilderment, for our hero, disengaged itself from
+these remarks: they struck him as a contradiction, a
+retractation, strange on the part of a man who hadn&rsquo;t the
+excuse of witlessness.&nbsp; He had certainly not expected his
+correspondent to rejoice in the death of his wife, and it was
+perfectly in order that the rupture of a tie of more than twenty
+years should have left him sore.&nbsp; But if she had been so
+clear a blessing what in the name of consistency had the dear man
+meant by turning him upside down that night&mdash;by dosing him
+to that degree, at the most sensitive hour of his life, with the
+doctrine of renunciation?&nbsp; If Mrs. St. George was an
+irreparable loss, then her husband&rsquo;s inspired advice had
+been a bad joke and renunciation was a mistake.&nbsp; Overt was
+on the point of rushing back to London to show that, for his
+part, he was perfectly willing to consider it so, and he went so
+far as to take the manuscript of the first chapters of his new
+book out of his table-drawer, to insert it into a pocket of his
+portmanteau.&nbsp; This led to his catching a glimpse of certain
+pages he hadn&rsquo;t looked at for months, and that accident, in
+turn, to his being struck with the high promise they
+revealed&mdash;a rare result of such retrospections, which it was
+his habit to avoid as much as possible: they usually brought home
+to him that the glow of composition might be a purely subjective
+and misleading emotion.&nbsp; On this occasion a certain belief
+in himself disengaged itself whimsically from the serried
+erasures of his first draft, making him think it best after all
+to pursue his present trial to the end.&nbsp; If he could write
+as well under the rigour of privation it might be a mistake to
+change the conditions before that spell had spent itself.&nbsp;
+He would go back to London of course, but he would go back only
+when he should have finished his book.&nbsp; This was the vow he
+privately made, restoring his manuscript to the
+table-drawer.&nbsp; It may be added that it took him a long time
+to finish his book, for the subject was as difficult as it was
+fine, and he was literally embarrassed by the fulness of his
+notes.&nbsp; Something within him warned him that he must make it
+supremely good&mdash;otherwise he should lack, as regards his
+private behaviour, a handsome excuse.&nbsp; He had a horror of
+this deficiency and found himself as firm as need be on the
+question of the lamp and the file.&nbsp; He crossed the Alps at
+last and spent the winter, the spring, the ensuing summer, in
+Italy, where still, at the end of a twelvemonth, his task was
+unachieved.&nbsp; &ldquo;Stick to it&mdash;see it through&rdquo;:
+this general injunction of St. George&rsquo;s was good also for
+the particular case.&nbsp; He applied it to the utmost, with the
+result that when in its slow order the summer had come round
+again he felt he had given all that was in him.&nbsp; This time
+he put his papers into his portmanteau, with the address of his
+publisher attached, and took his way northward.</p>
+<p>He had been absent from London for two years&mdash;two years
+which, seeming to count as more, had made such a difference in
+his own life&mdash;through the production of a novel far
+stronger, he believed, than &ldquo;Ginistrella&rdquo;&mdash;that
+he turned out into Piccadilly, the morning after his arrival,
+with a vague expectation of changes, of finding great things had
+happened.&nbsp; But there were few transformations in
+Piccadilly&mdash;only three or four big red houses where there
+had been low black ones&mdash;and the brightness of the end of
+June peeped through the rusty railings of the Green Park and
+glittered in the varnish of the rolling carriages as he had seen
+it in other, more cursory Junes.&nbsp; It was a greeting he
+appreciated; it seemed friendly and pointed, added to the
+exhilaration of his finished book, of his having his own country
+and the huge oppressive amusing city that suggested everything,
+that contained everything, under his hand again.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Stay at home and do things here&mdash;do subjects we can
+measure,&rdquo; St. George had said; and now it struck him he
+should ask nothing better than to stay at home for ever.&nbsp;
+Late in the afternoon he took his way to Manchester Square,
+looking out for a number he hadn&rsquo;t forgotten.&nbsp; Miss
+Fancourt, however, was not at home, so that he turned rather
+dejectedly from the door.&nbsp; His movement brought him face to
+face with a gentleman just approaching it and recognised on
+another glance as Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s father.&nbsp; Paul
+saluted this personage, and the General returned the greeting
+with his customary good manner&mdash;a manner so good, however,
+that you could never tell whether it meant he placed you.&nbsp;
+The disappointed caller felt the impulse to address him; then,
+hesitating, became both aware of having no particular remark to
+make, and convinced that though the old soldier remembered him he
+remembered him wrong.&nbsp; He therefore went his way without
+computing the irresistible effect his own evident recognition
+would have on the General, who never neglected a chance to
+gossip.&nbsp; Our young man&rsquo;s face was expressive, and
+observation seldom let it pass.&nbsp; He hadn&rsquo;t taken ten
+steps before he heard himself called after with a friendly
+semi-articulate &ldquo;Er&mdash;I beg your pardon!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+He turned round and the General, smiling at him from the porch,
+said: &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you come in?&nbsp; I won&rsquo;t leave
+you the advantage of me!&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul declined to come in,
+and then felt regret, for Miss Fancourt, so late in the
+afternoon, might return at any moment.&nbsp; But her father gave
+him no second chance; he appeared mainly to wish not to have
+struck him as ungracious.&nbsp; A further look at the visitor had
+recalled something, enough at least to enable him to say:
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve come back, you&rsquo;ve come
+back?&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul was on the point of replying that he had
+come back the night before, but he suppressed, the next instant,
+this strong light on the immediacy of his visit and, giving
+merely a general assent, alluded to the young lady he deplored
+not having found.&nbsp; He had come late in the hope she would be
+in.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell her&mdash;I&rsquo;ll tell
+her,&rdquo; said the old man; and then he added quickly,
+gallantly: &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be giving us something new?&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s a long time, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;&nbsp; Now he
+remembered him right.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rather long.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m very slow.&rdquo; Paul
+explained.&nbsp; &ldquo;I met you at Summersoft a long time
+ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes&mdash;with Henry St. George.&nbsp; I remember
+very well.&nbsp; Before his poor wife&mdash;&rdquo; General
+Fancourt paused a moment, smiling a little less.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+dare say you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;About Mrs. St. George&rsquo;s death?&nbsp;
+Certainly&mdash;I heard at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, I mean&mdash;I mean he&rsquo;s to be
+married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah I&rsquo;ve not heard that!&rdquo;&nbsp; But just as
+Paul was about to add &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo; the General crossed
+his intention.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When did you come back?&nbsp; I know you&rsquo;ve been
+away&mdash;by my daughter.&nbsp; She was very sorry.&nbsp; You
+ought to give her something new.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I came back last night,&rdquo; said our young man, to
+whom something had occurred which made his speech for the moment
+a little thick.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah most kind of you to come so soon.&nbsp;
+Couldn&rsquo;t you turn up at dinner?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At dinner?&rdquo; Paul just mechanically repeated, not
+liking to ask whom St. George was going to marry, but thinking
+only of that.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are several people, I believe.&nbsp; Certainly
+St. George.&nbsp; Or afterwards if you like better.&nbsp; I
+believe my daughter expects&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp; He appeared to
+notice something in the visitor&rsquo;s raised face (on his steps
+he stood higher) which led him to interrupt himself, and the
+interruption gave him a momentary sense of awkwardness, from
+which he sought a quick issue.&nbsp; &ldquo;Perhaps then you
+haven&rsquo;t heard she&rsquo;s to be married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul gaped again.&nbsp; &ldquo;To be married?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To Mr. St. George&mdash;it has just been settled.&nbsp;
+Odd marriage, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;&nbsp; Our listener uttered
+no opinion on this point: he only continued to stare.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;But I dare say it will do&mdash;she&rsquo;s so awfully
+literary!&rdquo; said the General.</p>
+<p>Paul had turned very red.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh it&rsquo;s a
+surprise&mdash;very interesting, very charming!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+afraid I can&rsquo;t dine&mdash;so many thanks!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you must come to the wedding!&rdquo; cried the
+General.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh I remember that day at Summersoft.&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;s a great man, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Charming&mdash;charming!&rdquo; Paul stammered for
+retreat.&nbsp; He shook hands with the General and got off.&nbsp;
+His face was red and he had the sense of its growing more and
+more crimson.&nbsp; All the evening at home&mdash;he went
+straight to his rooms and remained there dinnerless&mdash;his
+cheek burned at intervals as if it had been smitten.&nbsp; He
+didn&rsquo;t understand what had happened to him, what trick had
+been played him, what treachery practised.&nbsp; &ldquo;None,
+none,&rdquo; he said to himself.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve nothing
+to do with it.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m out of it&mdash;it&rsquo;s none of
+my business.&rdquo;&nbsp; But that bewildered murmur was followed
+again and again by the incongruous ejaculation: &ldquo;Was it a
+plan&mdash;was it a plan?&rdquo;&nbsp; Sometimes he cried to
+himself, breathless, &ldquo;Have I been duped, sold,
+swindled?&rdquo;&nbsp; If at all, he was an absurd, an abject
+victim.&nbsp; It was as if he hadn&rsquo;t lost her till
+now.&nbsp; He had renounced her, yes; but that was another
+affair&mdash;that was a closed but not a locked door.&nbsp; Now
+he seemed to see the door quite slammed in his face.&nbsp; Did he
+expect her to wait&mdash;was she to give him his time like that:
+two years at a stretch?&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t know what he had
+expected&mdash;he only knew what he hadn&rsquo;t.&nbsp; It
+wasn&rsquo;t this&mdash;it wasn&rsquo;t this.&nbsp; Mystification
+bitterness and wrath rose and boiled in him when he thought of
+the deference, the devotion, the credulity with which he had
+listened to St. George.&nbsp; The evening wore on and the light
+was long; but even when it had darkened he remained without a
+lamp.&nbsp; He had flung himself on the sofa, where he lay
+through the hours with his eyes either closed or gazing at the
+gloom, in the attitude of a man teaching himself to bear
+something, to bear having been made a fool of.&nbsp; He had made
+it too easy&mdash;that idea passed over him like a hot
+wave.&nbsp; Suddenly, as he heard eleven o&rsquo;clock strike, he
+jumped up, remembering what General Fancourt had said about his
+coming after dinner.&nbsp; He&rsquo;d go&mdash;he&rsquo;d see her
+at least; perhaps he should see what it meant.&nbsp; He felt as
+if some of the elements of a hard sum had been given him and the
+others were wanting: he couldn&rsquo;t do his sum till he had got
+all his figures.</p>
+<p>He dressed and drove quickly, so that by half-past eleven he
+was at Manchester Square.&nbsp; There were a good many carriages
+at the door&mdash;a party was going on; a circumstance which at
+the last gave him a slight relief, for now he would rather see
+her in a crowd.&nbsp; People passed him on the staircase; they
+were going away, going &ldquo;on&rdquo; with the hunted herdlike
+movement of London society at night.&nbsp; But sundry groups
+remained in the drawing-room, and it was some minutes, as she
+didn&rsquo;t hear him announced, before he discovered and spoke
+to her.&nbsp; In this short interval he had seen St. George
+talking to a lady before the fireplace; but he at once looked
+away, feeling unready for an encounter, and therefore
+couldn&rsquo;t be sure the author of &ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo;
+noticed him.&nbsp; At all events he didn&rsquo;t come over though
+Miss Fancourt did as soon as she saw him&mdash;she almost rushed
+at him, smiling rustling radiant beautiful.&nbsp; He had
+forgotten what her head, what her face offered to the sight; she
+was in white, there were gold figures on her dress and her hair
+was a casque of gold.&nbsp; He saw in a single moment that she
+was happy, happy with an aggressive splendour.&nbsp; But she
+wouldn&rsquo;t speak to him of that, she would speak only of
+himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so delighted; my father told me.&nbsp; How
+kind of you to come!&rdquo;&nbsp; She struck him as so fresh and
+brave, while his eyes moved over her, that he said to himself
+irresistibly: &ldquo;Why to him, why not to youth, to strength,
+to ambition, to a future?&nbsp; Why, in her rich young force, to
+failure, to abdication to superannuation?&rdquo;&nbsp; In his
+thought at that sharp moment he blasphemed even against all that
+had been left of his faith in the peccable Master.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so sorry I missed you,&rdquo; she went on.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;My father told me.&nbsp; How charming of you to have come
+so soon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does that surprise you?&rdquo; Paul Overt asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The first day?&nbsp; No, from you&mdash;nothing
+that&rsquo;s nice.&rdquo;&nbsp; She was interrupted by a lady who
+bade her good-night, and he seemed to read that it cost her
+nothing to speak to him in that tone; it was her old liberal
+lavish way, with a certain added amplitude that time had brought;
+and if this manner began to operate on the spot, at such a
+juncture in her history, perhaps in the other days too it had
+meant just as little or as much&mdash;a mere mechanical charity,
+with the difference now that she was satisfied, ready to give but
+in want of nothing.&nbsp; Oh she was satisfied&mdash;and why
+shouldn&rsquo;t she be?&nbsp; Why shouldn&rsquo;t she have been
+surprised at his coming the first day&mdash;for all the good she
+had ever got from him?&nbsp; As the lady continued to hold her
+attention Paul turned from her with a strange irritation in his
+complicated artistic soul and a sort of disinterested
+disappointment.&nbsp; She was so happy that it was almost
+stupid&mdash;a disproof of the extraordinary intelligence he had
+formerly found in her.&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t she know how bad St.
+George could be, hadn&rsquo;t she recognised the awful
+thinness&mdash;?&nbsp; If she didn&rsquo;t she was nothing, and
+if she did why such an insolence of serenity?&nbsp; This question
+expired as our young man&rsquo;s eyes settled at last on the
+genius who had advised him in a great crisis.&nbsp; St. George
+was still before the chimney-piece, but now he was
+alone&mdash;fixed, waiting, as if he meant to stop after every
+one&mdash;and he met the clouded gaze of the young friend so
+troubled as to the degree of his right (the right his resentment
+would have enjoyed) to regard himself as a victim.&nbsp; Somehow
+the ravage of the question was checked by the Master&rsquo;s
+radiance.&nbsp; It was as fine in its way as Marian
+Fancourt&rsquo;s, it denoted the happy human being; but also it
+represented to Paul Overt that the author of
+&ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; had now definitely ceased to
+count&mdash;ceased to count as a writer.&nbsp; As he smiled a
+welcome across the place he was almost banal, was almost
+smug.&nbsp; Paul fancied that for a moment he hesitated to make a
+movement, as if for all the world he <i>had</i> his bad
+conscience; then they had already met in the middle of the room
+and had shaken hands&mdash;expressively, cordially on St.
+George&rsquo;s part.&nbsp; With which they had passed back
+together to where the elder man had been standing, while St.
+George said: &ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;re never going away
+again.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve been dining here; the General told
+me.&rdquo;&nbsp; He was handsome, he was young, he looked as if
+he had still a great fund of life.&nbsp; He bent the friendliest,
+most unconfessing eyes on his disciple of a couple of years
+before; asked him about everything, his health, his plans, his
+late occupations, the new book.&nbsp; &ldquo;When will it be
+out&mdash;soon, soon, I hope?&nbsp; Splendid, eh?&nbsp;
+That&rsquo;s right; you&rsquo;re a comfort, you&rsquo;re a
+luxury!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve read you all over again these last six
+months.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul waited to see if he would tell him what
+the General had told him in the afternoon and what Miss Fancourt,
+verbally at least, of course hadn&rsquo;t.&nbsp; But as it
+didn&rsquo;t come out he at last put the question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it true, the great news I hear&mdash;that
+you&rsquo;re to be married?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you have heard it then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t the General tell you?&rdquo; Paul
+asked.</p>
+<p>The Master&rsquo;s face was wonderful.&nbsp; &ldquo;Tell me
+what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That he mentioned it to me this afternoon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow, I don&rsquo;t remember.&nbsp;
+We&rsquo;ve been in the midst of people.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sorry,
+in that case, that I lose the pleasure, myself, of announcing to
+you a fact that touches me so nearly.&nbsp; It <i>is</i> a fact,
+strange as it may appear.&nbsp; It has only just become
+one.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t it ridiculous?&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George
+made this speech without confusion, but on the other hand, so far
+as our friend could judge, without latent impudence.&nbsp; It
+struck his interlocutor that, to talk so comfortably and coolly,
+he must simply have forgotten what had passed between them.&nbsp;
+His next words, however, showed he hadn&rsquo;t, and they
+produced, as an appeal to Paul&rsquo;s own memory, an effect
+which would have been ludicrous if it hadn&rsquo;t been
+cruel.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you recall the talk we had at my house
+that night, into which Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s name entered?&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve often thought of it since.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; no wonder you said what you did&rdquo;&mdash;Paul
+was careful to meet his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the light of the present occasion?&nbsp; Ah but
+there was no light then.&nbsp; How could I have foreseen this
+hour?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you think it probable?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Upon my honour, no,&rdquo; said Henry St. George.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Certainly I owe you that assurance.&nbsp; Think how my
+situation has changed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see&mdash;I see,&rdquo; our young man murmured.</p>
+<p>His companion went on as if, now that the subject had been
+broached, he was, as a person of imagination and tact, quite
+ready to give every satisfaction&mdash;being both by his genius
+and his method so able to enter into everything another might
+feel.&nbsp; &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s not only that; for honestly, at
+my age, I never dreamed&mdash;a widower with big boys and with so
+little else!&nbsp; It has turned out differently from anything
+one could have dreamed, and I&rsquo;m fortunate beyond all
+measure.&nbsp; She has been so free, and yet she consents.&nbsp;
+Better than any one else perhaps&mdash;for I remember how you
+liked her before you went away, and how she liked you&mdash;you
+can intelligently congratulate me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has been so free!&rdquo;&nbsp; Those words made a
+great impression on Paul Overt, and he almost writhed under that
+irony in them as to which it so little mattered whether it was
+designed or casual.&nbsp; Of course she had been free, and
+appreciably perhaps by his own act; for wasn&rsquo;t the
+Master&rsquo;s allusion to her having liked him a part of the
+irony too?&nbsp; &ldquo;I thought that by your theory you
+disapproved of a writer&rsquo;s marrying.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely&mdash;surely.&nbsp; But you don&rsquo;t call me
+a writer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ought to be ashamed,&rdquo; said Paul.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ashamed of marrying again?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t say that&mdash;but ashamed of your
+reasons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The elder man beautifully smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;You must let me
+judge of them, my good friend.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; why not?&nbsp; For you judged wonderfully of
+mine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for St. George, to
+suggest the unsuspected.&nbsp; He stared as if divining a
+bitterness.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think I&rsquo;ve been
+straight?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might have told me at the time perhaps.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow, when I say I couldn&rsquo;t pierce
+futurity&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean afterwards.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Master wondered.&nbsp; &ldquo;After my wife&rsquo;s
+death?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When this idea came to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah never, never!&nbsp; I wanted to save you, rare and
+precious as you are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Poor Overt looked hard at him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Are you marrying
+Miss Fancourt to save me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not absolutely, but it adds to the pleasure.&nbsp; I
+shall be the making of you,&rdquo; St. George smiled.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I was greatly struck, after our talk, with the brave
+devoted way you quitted the country, and still more perhaps with
+your force of character in remaining abroad.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re
+very strong&mdash;you&rsquo;re wonderfully strong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul tried to sound his shining eyes; the strange thing was
+that he seemed sincere&mdash;not a mocking fiend.&nbsp; He turned
+away, and as he did so heard the Master say something about his
+giving them all the proof, being the joy of his old age.&nbsp; He
+faced him again, taking another look.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you mean to
+say you&rsquo;ve stopped writing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow, of course I have.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s too
+late.&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t I tell you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t believe it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you can&rsquo;t&mdash;with your own
+talent!&nbsp; No, no; for the rest of my life I shall only read
+<i>you</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does she know that&mdash;Miss Fancourt?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She will&mdash;she will.&rdquo;&nbsp; Did he mean this,
+our young man wondered, as a covert intimation that the
+assistance he should derive from that young lady&rsquo;s fortune,
+moderate as it was, would make the difference of putting it in
+his power to cease to work ungratefully an exhausted vein?&nbsp;
+Somehow, standing there in the ripeness of his successful
+manhood, he didn&rsquo;t suggest that any of his veins were
+exhausted.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you remember the moral I
+offered myself to you that night as pointing?&rdquo; St. George
+continued.&nbsp; &ldquo;Consider at any rate the warning I am at
+present.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This was too much&mdash;he <i>was</i> the mocking fiend.&nbsp;
+Paul turned from him with a mere nod for good-night and the sense
+in a sore heart that he might come back to him and his easy
+grace, his fine way of arranging things, some time in the far
+future, but couldn&rsquo;t fraternise with him now.&nbsp; It was
+necessary to his soreness to believe for the hour in the
+intensity of his grievance&mdash;all the more cruel for its not
+being a legal one.&nbsp; It was doubtless in the attitude of
+hugging this wrong that he descended the stairs without taking
+leave of Miss Fancourt, who hadn&rsquo;t been in view at the
+moment he quitted the room.&nbsp; He was glad to get out into the
+honest dusky unsophisticating night, to move fast, to take his
+way home on foot.&nbsp; He walked a long time, going astray,
+paying no attention.&nbsp; He was thinking of too many other
+things.&nbsp; His steps recovered their direction, however, and
+at the end of an hour he found himself before his door in the
+small inexpensive empty street.&nbsp; He lingered, questioning
+himself still before going in, with nothing around and above him
+but moonless blackness, a bad lamp or two and a few far-away dim
+stars.&nbsp; To these last faint features he raised his eyes; he
+had been saying to himself that he should have been
+&ldquo;sold&rdquo; indeed, diabolically sold, if now, on his new
+foundation, at the end of a year, St. George were to put forth
+something of his prime quality&mdash;something of the type of
+&ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; and finer than his finest.&nbsp; Greatly
+as he admired his talent Paul literally hoped such an incident
+wouldn&rsquo;t occur; it seemed to him just then that he
+shouldn&rsquo;t be able to bear it.&nbsp; His late
+adviser&rsquo;s words were still in his
+ears&mdash;&ldquo;You&rsquo;re very strong, wonderfully
+strong.&rdquo;&nbsp; Was he really?&nbsp; Certainly he would have
+to be, and it might a little serve for revenge.&nbsp; <i>Is</i>
+he? the reader may ask in turn, if his interest has followed the
+perplexed young man so far.&nbsp; The best answer to that perhaps
+is that he&rsquo;s doing his best, but that it&rsquo;s too soon
+to say.&nbsp; When the new book came out in the autumn Mr. and
+Mrs. St. George found it really magnificent.&nbsp; The former
+still has published nothing but Paul doesn&rsquo;t even yet feel
+safe.&nbsp; I may say for him, however, that if this event were
+to occur he would really be the very first to appreciate it:
+which is perhaps a proof that the Master was essentially right
+and that Nature had dedicated him to intellectual, not to
+personal passion.</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LESSON OF THE MASTER***</p>
+<pre>
+
+
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+<a href="#startoftext">The Lesson of the Master, by Henry James</a>
+</h2>
+<pre>
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lesson of the Master, by Henry James
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Lesson of the Master
+
+
+Author: Henry James
+
+Release Date: May 13, 2005  [eBook #898]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LESSON OF THE MASTER***
+</pre>
+<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p>
+<h1>THE LESSON OF THE MASTER<br />
+by Henry James</h1>
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+<p>He had been told the ladies were at church, but this was corrected
+by what he saw from the top of the steps&mdash;they descended from a
+great height in two arms, with a circular sweep of the most charming
+effect&mdash;at the threshold of the door which, from the long bright
+gallery, overlooked the immense lawn.&nbsp; Three gentlemen, on the
+grass, at a distance, sat under the great trees, while the fourth figure
+showed a crimson dress that told as a &ldquo;bit of colour&rdquo; amid
+the fresh rich green.&nbsp; The servant had so far accompanied Paul
+Overt as to introduce him to this view, after asking him if he wished
+first to go to his room.&nbsp; The young man declined that privilege,
+conscious of no disrepair from so short and easy a journey and always
+liking to take at once a general perceptive possession of a new scene.&nbsp;
+He stood there a little with his eyes on the group and on the admirable
+picture, the wide grounds of an old country-house near London&mdash;that
+only made it better&mdash;on a splendid Sunday in June.&nbsp; &ldquo;But
+that lady, who&rsquo;s <i>she</i>?&rdquo; he said to the servant before
+the man left him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think she&rsquo;s Mrs. St. George, sir.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mrs. St. George, the wife of the distinguished&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Then Paul Overt checked himself, doubting if a footman would know.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir&mdash;probably, sir,&rdquo; said his guide, who appeared
+to wish to intimate that a person staying at Summersoft would naturally
+be, if only by alliance, distinguished.&nbsp; His tone, however, made
+poor Overt himself feel for the moment scantly so.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the gentlemen?&rdquo; Overt went on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, one of them&rsquo;s General Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes, I know; thank you.&rdquo;&nbsp; General Fancourt was
+distinguished, there was no doubt of that, for something he had done,
+or perhaps even hadn&rsquo;t done&mdash;the young man couldn&rsquo;t
+remember which&mdash;some years before in India.&nbsp; The servant went
+away, leaving the glass doors open into the gallery, and Paul Overt
+remained at the head of the wide double staircase, saying to himself
+that the place was sweet and promised a pleasant visit, while he leaned
+on the balustrade of fine old ironwork which, like all the other details,
+was of the same period as the house.&nbsp; It all went together and
+spoke in one voice&mdash;a rich English voice of the early part of the
+eighteenth century.&nbsp; It might have been church-time on a summer&rsquo;s
+day in the reign of Queen Anne; the stillness was too perfect to be
+modern, the nearness counted so as distance, and there was something
+so fresh and sound in the originality of the large smooth house, the
+expanse of beautiful brickwork that showed for pink rather than red
+and that had been kept clear of messy creepers by the law under which
+a woman with a rare complexion disdains a veil.&nbsp; When Paul Overt
+became aware that the people under the trees had noticed him he turned
+back through the open doors into the great gallery which was the pride
+of the place.&nbsp; It marched across from end to end and seemed&mdash;with
+its bright colours, its high panelled windows, its faded flowered chintzes,
+its quickly-recognised portraits and pictures, the blue-and-white china
+of its cabinets and the attenuated festoons and rosettes of its ceiling&mdash;a
+cheerful upholstered avenue into the other century.</p>
+<p>Our friend was slightly nervous; that went with his character as
+a student of fine prose, went with the artist&rsquo;s general disposition
+to vibrate; and there was a particular thrill in the idea that Henry
+St. George might be a member of the party.&nbsp; For the young aspirant
+he had remained a high literary figure, in spite of the lower range
+of production to which he had fallen after his first three great successes,
+the comparative absence of quality in his later work.&nbsp; There had
+been moments when Paul Overt almost shed tears for this; but now that
+he was near him&mdash;he had never met him&mdash;he was conscious only
+of the fine original source and of his own immense debt.&nbsp; After
+he had taken a turn or two up and down the gallery he came out again
+and descended the steps.&nbsp; He was but slenderly supplied with a
+certain social boldness&mdash;it was really a weakness in him&mdash;so
+that, conscious of a want of acquaintance with the four persons in the
+distance, he gave way to motions recommended by their not committing
+him to a positive approach.&nbsp; There was a fine English awkwardness
+in this&mdash;he felt that too as he sauntered vaguely and obliquely
+across the lawn, taking an independent line.&nbsp; Fortunately there
+was an equally fine English directness in the way one of the gentlemen
+presently rose and made as if to &ldquo;stalk&rdquo; him, though with
+an air of conciliation and reassurance.&nbsp; To this demonstration
+Paul Overt instantly responded, even if the gentleman were not his host.&nbsp;
+He was tall, straight and elderly and had, like the great house itself,
+a pink smiling face, and into the bargain a white moustache.&nbsp; Our
+young man met him halfway while he laughed and said: &ldquo;Er&mdash;Lady
+Watermouth told us you were coming; she asked me just to look after
+you.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul Overt thanked him, liking him on the spot, and
+turned round with him to walk toward the others.&nbsp; &ldquo;They&rsquo;ve
+all gone to church&mdash;all except us,&rdquo; the stranger continued
+as they went; &ldquo;we&rsquo;re just sitting here&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+so jolly.&rdquo;&nbsp; Overt pronounced it jolly indeed: it was such
+a lovely place.&nbsp; He mentioned that he was having the charming impression
+for the first time.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you&rsquo;ve not been here before?&rdquo; said his companion.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a nice little place&mdash;not much to <i>do</i>, you
+know&rdquo;.&nbsp; Overt wondered what he wanted to &ldquo;do&rdquo;&mdash;he
+felt that he himself was doing so much.&nbsp; By the time they came
+to where the others sat he had recognised his initiator for a military
+man and&mdash;such was the turn of Overt&rsquo;s imagination&mdash;had
+found him thus still more sympathetic.&nbsp; He would naturally have
+a need for action, for deeds at variance with the pacific pastoral scene.&nbsp;
+He was evidently so good-natured, however, that he accepted the inglorious
+hour for what it was worth.&nbsp; Paul Overt shared it with him and
+with his companions for the next twenty minutes; the latter looked at
+him and he looked at them without knowing much who they were, while
+the talk went on without much telling him even what it meant.&nbsp;
+It seemed indeed to mean nothing in particular; it wandered, with casual
+pointless pauses and short terrestrial flights, amid names of persons
+and places&mdash;names which, for our friend, had no great power of
+evocation.&nbsp; It was all sociable and slow, as was right and natural
+of a warm Sunday morning.</p>
+<p>His first attention was given to the question, privately considered,
+of whether one of the two younger men would be Henry St. George.&nbsp;
+He knew many of his distinguished contemporaries by their photographs,
+but had never, as happened, seen a portrait of the great misguided novelist.&nbsp;
+One of the gentlemen was unimaginable&mdash;he was too young; and the
+other scarcely looked clever enough, with such mild undiscriminating
+eyes.&nbsp; If those eyes were St. George&rsquo;s the problem, presented
+by the ill-matched parts of his genius would be still more difficult
+of solution.&nbsp; Besides, the deportment of their proprietor was not,
+as regards the lady in the red dress, such as could be natural, toward
+the wife of his bosom, even to a writer accused by several critics of
+sacrificing too much to manner.&nbsp; Lastly Paul Overt had a vague
+sense that if the gentleman with the expressionless eyes bore the name
+that had set his heart beating faster (he also had contradictory conventional
+whiskers&mdash;the young admirer of the celebrity had never in a mental
+vision seen <i>his</i> face in so vulgar a frame) he would have given
+him a sign of recognition or of friendliness, would have heard of him
+a little, would know something about &ldquo;Ginistrella,&rdquo; would
+have an impression of how that fresh fiction had caught the eye of real
+criticism.&nbsp; Paul Overt had a dread of being grossly proud, but
+even morbid modesty might view the authorship of &ldquo;Ginistrella&rdquo;
+as constituting a degree of identity.&nbsp; His soldierly friend became
+clear enough: he was &ldquo;Fancourt,&rdquo; but was also &ldquo;the
+General&rdquo;; and he mentioned to the new visitor in the course of
+a few moments that he had but lately returned from twenty years service
+abroad.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now you remain in England?&rdquo; the young man asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes; I&rsquo;ve bought a small house in London.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I hope you like it,&rdquo; said Overt, looking at Mrs.
+St. George.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, a little house in Manchester Square&mdash;there&rsquo;s
+a limit to the enthusiasm <i>that</i> inspires.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I meant being at home again&mdash;being back in Piccadilly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My daughter likes Piccadilly&mdash;that&rsquo;s the main thing.&nbsp;
+She&rsquo;s very fond of art and music and literature and all that kind
+of thing.&nbsp; She missed it in India and she finds it in London, or
+she hopes she&rsquo;ll find it.&nbsp; Mr. St. George has promised to
+help her&mdash;he has been awfully kind to her.&nbsp; She has gone to
+church&mdash;she&rsquo;s fond of that too&mdash;but they&rsquo;ll all
+be back in a quarter of an hour.&nbsp; You must let me introduce you
+to her&mdash;she&rsquo;ll be so glad to know you.&nbsp; I dare say she
+has read every blest word you&rsquo;ve written.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shall be delighted&mdash;I haven&rsquo;t written so very
+many,&rdquo; Overt pleaded, feeling, and without resentment, that the
+General at least was vagueness itself about that.&nbsp; But he wondered
+a little why, expressing this friendly disposition, it didn&rsquo;t
+occur to the doubtless eminent soldier to pronounce the word that would
+put him in relation with Mrs. St. George.&nbsp; If it was a question
+of introductions Miss Fancourt&mdash;apparently as yet unmarried&mdash;was
+far away, while the wife of his illustrious confr&egrave;re was almost
+between them.&nbsp; This lady struck Paul Overt as altogether pretty,
+with a surprising juvenility and a high smartness of aspect, something
+that&mdash;he could scarcely have said why&mdash;served for mystification.&nbsp;
+St. George certainly had every right to a charming wife, but he himself
+would never have imagined the important little woman in the aggressively
+Parisian dress the partner for life, the alter ego, of a man of letters.&nbsp;
+That partner in general, he knew, that second self, was far from presenting
+herself in a single type: observation had taught him that she was not
+inveterately, not necessarily plain.&nbsp; But he had never before seen
+her look so much as if her prosperity had deeper foundations than an
+ink-spotted study-table littered with proof-sheets.&nbsp; Mrs. St. George
+might have been the wife of a gentleman who &ldquo;kept&rdquo; books
+rather than wrote them, who carried on great affairs in the City and
+made better bargains than those that poets mostly make with publishers.&nbsp;
+With this she hinted at a success more personal&mdash;a success peculiarly
+stamping the age in which society, the world of conversation, is a great
+drawing-room with the City for its antechamber.&nbsp; Overt numbered
+her years at first as some thirty, and then ended by believing that
+she might approach her fiftieth.&nbsp; But she somehow in this case
+juggled away the excess and the difference&mdash;you only saw them in
+a rare glimpse, like the rabbit in the conjurer&rsquo;s sleeve.&nbsp;
+She was extraordinarily white, and her every element and item was pretty;
+her eyes, her ears, her hair, her voice, her hands, her feet&mdash;to
+which her relaxed attitude in her wicker chair gave a great publicity&mdash;and
+the numerous ribbons and trinkets with which she was bedecked.&nbsp;
+She looked as if she had put on her best clothes to go to church and
+then had decided they were too good for that and had stayed at home.&nbsp;
+She told a story of some length about the shabby way Lady Jane had treated
+the Duchess, as well as an anecdote in relation to a purchase she had
+made in Paris&mdash;on her way back from Cannes; made for Lady Egbert,
+who had never refunded the money.&nbsp; Paul Overt suspected her of
+a tendency to figure great people as larger than life, until he noticed
+the manner in which she handled Lady Egbert, which was so sharply mutinous
+that it reassured him.&nbsp; He felt he should have understood her better
+if he might have met her eye; but she scarcely so much as glanced at
+him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah here they come&mdash;all the good ones!&rdquo;
+she said at last; and Paul Overt admired at his distance the return
+of the church-goers&mdash;several persons, in couples and threes, advancing
+in a flicker of sun and shade at the end of a large green vista formed
+by the level grass and the overarching boughs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you mean to imply that <i>we&rsquo;re</i> bad, I protest,&rdquo;
+said one of the gentlemen&mdash;&ldquo;after making one&rsquo;s self
+agreeable all the morning!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah if they&rsquo;ve found you agreeable&mdash;!&rdquo; Mrs.
+St. George gaily cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;But if we&rsquo;re good the others
+are better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They must be angels then,&rdquo; said the amused General.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your husband was an angel, the way he went off at your bidding,&rdquo;
+the gentleman who had first spoken declared to Mrs. St. George.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At my bidding?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you make him go to church?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I never made him do anything in my life but once&mdash;when
+I made him burn up a bad book.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s all!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+At her &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all!&rdquo; our young friend broke into an
+irrepressible laugh; it lasted only a second, but it drew her eyes to
+him.&nbsp; His own met them, though not long enough to help him to understand
+her; unless it were a step towards this that he saw on the instant how
+the burnt book&mdash;the way she alluded to it!&mdash;would have been
+one of her husband&rsquo;s finest things.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bad book?&rdquo; her interlocutor repeated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t like it.&nbsp; He went to church because your
+daughter went,&rdquo; she continued to General Fancourt.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+think it my duty to call your attention to his extraordinary demonstrations
+to your daughter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, if you don&rsquo;t mind them I don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; the
+General laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Il s&rsquo;attache &agrave; ses pas.&nbsp; But I don&rsquo;t
+wonder&mdash;she&rsquo;s so charming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope she won&rsquo;t make him burn any books!&rdquo; Paul
+Overt ventured to exclaim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If she&rsquo;d make him write a few it would be more to the
+purpose,&rdquo; said Mrs. St. George.&nbsp; &ldquo;He has been of a
+laziness of late&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our young man stared&mdash;he was so struck with the lady&rsquo;s
+phraseology.&nbsp; Her &ldquo;Write a few&rdquo; seemed to him almost
+as good as her &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t she,
+as the wife of a rare artist, know what it was to produce one perfect
+work of art?&nbsp; How in the world did she think they were turned off?&nbsp;
+His private conviction was that, admirably as Henry St. George wrote,
+he had written for the last ten years, and especially for the last five,
+only too much, and there was an instant during which he felt inwardly
+solicited to make this public.&nbsp; But before he had spoken a diversion
+was effected by the return of the absentees.&nbsp; They strolled up
+dispersedly&mdash;there were eight or ten of them&mdash;and the circle
+under the trees rearranged itself as they took their place in it.&nbsp;
+They made it much larger, so that Paul Overt could feel&mdash;he was
+always feeling that sort of thing, as he said to himself&mdash;that
+if the company had already been interesting to watch the interest would
+now become intense.&nbsp; He shook hands with his hostess, who welcomed
+him without many words, in the manner of a woman able to trust him to
+understand and conscious that so pleasant an occasion would in every
+way speak for itself.&nbsp; She offered him no particular facility for
+sitting by her, and when they had all subsided again he found himself
+still next General Fancourt, with an unknown lady on his other flank.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my daughter&mdash;that one opposite,&rdquo; the
+General said to him without lose of time.&nbsp; Overt saw a tall girl,
+with magnificent red hair, in a dress of a pretty grey-green tint and
+of a limp silken texture, a garment that clearly shirked every modern
+effect.&nbsp; It had therefore somehow the stamp of the latest thing,
+so that our beholder quickly took her for nothing if not contemporaneous.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s very handsome&mdash;very handsome,&rdquo; he repeated
+while he considered her.&nbsp; There was something noble in her head,
+and she appeared fresh and strong.</p>
+<p>Her good father surveyed her with complacency, remarking soon: &ldquo;She
+looks too hot&mdash;that&rsquo;s her walk.&nbsp; But she&rsquo;ll be
+all right presently.&nbsp; Then I&rsquo;ll make her come over and speak
+to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I should be sorry to give you that trouble.&nbsp; If you were
+to take me over <i>there</i>&mdash;!&rdquo; the young man murmured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear sir, do you suppose I put myself out that way?&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t mean for you, but for Marian,&rdquo; the General added.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>I</i> would put myself out for her soon enough,&rdquo;
+Overt replied; after which he went on: &ldquo;Will you be so good as
+to tell me which of those gentlemen is Henry St. George?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The fellow talking to my girl.&nbsp; By Jove, he <i>is</i>
+making up to her&mdash;they&rsquo;re going off for another walk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah is that he&mdash;really?&rdquo;&nbsp; Our friend felt a
+certain surprise, for the personage before him seemed to trouble a vision
+which had been vague only while not confronted with the reality.&nbsp;
+As soon as the reality dawned the mental image, retiring with a sigh,
+became substantial enough to suffer a slight wrong.&nbsp; Overt, who
+had spent a considerable part of his short life in foreign lands, made
+now, but not for the first time, the reflexion that whereas in those
+countries he had almost always recognised the artist and the man of
+letters by his personal &ldquo;type,&rdquo; the mould of his face, the
+character of his head, the expression of his figure and even the indications
+of his dress, so in England this identification was as little as possible
+a matter of course, thanks to the greater conformity, the habit of sinking
+the profession instead of advertising it, the general diffusion of the
+air of the gentleman&mdash;the gentleman committed to no particular
+set of ideas.&nbsp; More than once, on returning to his own country,
+he had said to himself about people met in society: &ldquo;One sees
+them in this place and that, and one even talks with them; but to find
+out what they <i>do</i> one would really have to be a detective.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+In respect to several individuals whose work he was the opposite of
+&ldquo;drawn to&rdquo;&mdash;perhaps he was wrong&mdash;he found himself
+adding &ldquo;No wonder they conceal it&mdash;when it&rsquo;s so bad!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+He noted that oftener than in France and in Germany his artist looked
+like a gentleman&mdash;that is like an English one&mdash;while, certainly
+outside a few exceptions, his gentlemen didn&rsquo;t look like an artist.&nbsp;
+St. George was not one of the exceptions; that circumstance he definitely
+apprehended before the great man had turned his back to walk off with
+Miss Fancourt.&nbsp; He certainly looked better behind than any foreign
+man of letters&mdash;showed for beautifully correct in his tall black
+hat and his superior frock coat.&nbsp; Somehow, all the same, these
+very garments&mdash;he wouldn&rsquo;t have minded them so much on a
+weekday&mdash;were disconcerting to Paul Overt, who forgot for the moment
+that the head of the profession was not a bit better dressed than himself.&nbsp;
+He had caught a glimpse of a regular face, a fresh colour, a brown moustache
+and a pair of eyes surely never visited by a fine frenzy, and he promised
+himself to study these denotements on the first occasion.&nbsp; His
+superficial sense was that their owner might have passed for a lucky
+stockbroker&mdash;a gentleman driving eastward every morning from a
+sanitary suburb in a smart dog-cart.&nbsp; That carried out the impression
+already derived from his wife.&nbsp; Paul&rsquo;s glance, after a moment,
+travelled back to this lady, and he saw how her own had followed her
+husband as he moved off with Miss Fancourt.&nbsp; Overt permitted himself
+to wonder a little if she were jealous when another woman took him away.&nbsp;
+Then he made out that Mrs. St. George wasn&rsquo;t glaring at the indifferent
+maiden.&nbsp; Her eyes rested but on her husband, and with unmistakeable
+serenity.&nbsp; That was the way she wanted him to be&mdash;she liked
+his conventional uniform.&nbsp; Overt longed to hear more about the
+book she had induced him to destroy.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+<p>As they all came out from luncheon General Fancourt took hold of
+him with an &ldquo;I say, I want you to know my girl!&rdquo; as if the
+idea had just occurred to him and he hadn&rsquo;t spoken of it before.&nbsp;
+With the other hand he possessed himself all paternally of the young
+lady.&nbsp; &ldquo;You know all about him.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve seen you
+with his books.&nbsp; She reads everything&mdash;everything!&rdquo;
+he went on to Paul.&nbsp; The girl smiled at him and then laughed at
+her father.&nbsp; The General turned away and his daughter spoke&mdash;&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t
+papa delightful?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is indeed, Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As if I read you because I read &lsquo;everything&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I don&rsquo;t mean for saying that,&rdquo; said Paul Overt.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I liked him from the moment he began to be kind to me.&nbsp;
+Then he promised me this privilege.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t for you he means it&mdash;it&rsquo;s for me.&nbsp;
+If you flatter yourself that he thinks of anything in life but me you&rsquo;ll
+find you&rsquo;re mistaken.&nbsp; He introduces every one.&nbsp; He
+thinks me insatiable.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You speak just like him,&rdquo; laughed our youth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah but sometimes I want to&rdquo;&mdash;and the girl coloured.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t read everything&mdash;I read very little.&nbsp;
+But I <i>have</i> read you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Suppose we go into the gallery,&rdquo; said Paul Overt.&nbsp;
+She pleased him greatly, not so much because of this last remark&mdash;though
+that of course was not too disconcerting&mdash;as because, seated opposite
+to him at luncheon, she had given him for half an hour the impression
+of her beautiful face.&nbsp; Something else had come with it&mdash;a
+sense of generosity, of an enthusiasm which, unlike many enthusiasms,
+was not all manner.&nbsp; That was not spoiled for him by his seeing
+that the repast had placed her again in familiar contact with Henry
+St. George.&nbsp; Sitting next her this celebrity was also opposite
+our young man, who had been able to note that he multiplied the attentions
+lately brought by his wife to the General&rsquo;s notice.&nbsp; Paul
+Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not in the least discomposed
+by these fond excesses and that she gave every sign of an unclouded
+spirit.&nbsp; She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on the other
+the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new high-class lively evening
+paper which was expected to meet a want felt in circles increasingly
+conscious that Conservatism must be made amusing, and unconvinced when
+assured by those of another political colour that it was already amusing
+enough.&nbsp; At the end of an hour spent in her company Paul Overt
+thought her still prettier than at the first radiation, and if her profane
+allusions to her husband&rsquo;s work had not still rung in his ears
+he should have liked her&mdash;so far as it could be a question of that
+in connexion with a woman to whom he had not yet spoken and to whom
+probably he should never speak if it were left to her.&nbsp; Pretty
+women were a clear need to this genius, and for the hour it was Miss
+Fancourt who supplied the want.&nbsp; If Overt had promised himself
+a closer view the occasion was now of the best, and it brought consequences
+felt by the young man as important.&nbsp; He saw more in St. George&rsquo;s
+face, which he liked the better for its not having told its whole story
+in the first three minutes.&nbsp; That story came out as one read, in
+short instalments&mdash;it was excusable that one&rsquo;s analogies
+should be somewhat professional&mdash;and the text was a style considerably
+involved, a language not easy to translate at sight.&nbsp; There were
+shades of meaning in it and a vague perspective of history which receded
+as you advanced.&nbsp; Two facts Paul had particularly heeded.&nbsp;
+The first of these was that he liked the measured mask much better at
+inscrutable rest than in social agitation; its almost convulsive smile
+above all displeased him (as much as any impression from that source
+could), whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in proportion as
+stillness settled again.&nbsp; The change to the expression of gaiety
+excited, he made out, very much the private protest of a person sitting
+gratefully in the twilight when the lamp is brought in too soon.&nbsp;
+His second reflexion was that, though generally averse to the flagrant
+use of ingratiating arts by a man of age &ldquo;making up&rdquo; to
+a pretty girl, he was not in this case too painfully affected: which
+seemed to prove either that St. George had a light hand or the air of
+being younger than he was, or else that Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s own manner
+somehow made everything right.</p>
+<p>Overt walked with her into the gallery, and they strolled to the
+end of it, looking at the pictures, the cabinets, the charming vista,
+which harmonised with the prospect of the summer afternoon, resembling
+it by a long brightness, with great divans and old chairs that figured
+hours of rest.&nbsp; Such a place as that had the added merit of giving
+those who came into it plenty to talk about.&nbsp; Miss Fancourt sat
+down with her new acquaintance on a flowered sofa, the cushions of which,
+very numerous, were tight ancient cubes of many sizes, and presently
+said: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m so glad to have a chance to thank you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To thank me&mdash;?&rdquo;&nbsp; He had to wonder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I liked your book so much.&nbsp; I think it splendid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She sat there smiling at him, and he never asked himself which book
+she meant; for after all he had written three or four.&nbsp; That seemed
+a vulgar detail, and he wasn&rsquo;t even gratified by the idea of the
+pleasure she told him&mdash;her handsome bright face told him&mdash;he
+had given her.&nbsp; The feeling she appealed to, or at any rate the
+feeling she excited, was something larger, something that had little
+to do with any quickened pulsation of his own vanity.&nbsp; It was responsive
+admiration of the life she embodied, the young purity and richness of
+which appeared to imply that real success was to resemble <i>that</i>,
+to live, to bloom, to present the perfection of a fine type, not to
+have hammered out headachy fancies with a bent back at an ink-stained
+table.&nbsp; While her grey eyes rested on him&mdash;there was a wideish
+space between these, and the division of her rich-coloured hair, so
+thick that it ventured to be smooth, made a free arch above them&mdash;he
+was almost ashamed of that exercise of the pen which it was her present
+inclination to commend.&nbsp; He was conscious he should have liked
+better to please her in some other way.&nbsp; The lines of her face
+were those of a woman grown, but the child lingered on in her complexion
+and in the sweetness of her mouth.&nbsp; Above all she was natural&mdash;that
+was indubitable now; more natural than he had supposed at first, perhaps
+on account of her &aelig;sthetic toggery, which was conventionally unconventional,
+suggesting what he might have called a tortuous spontaneity.&nbsp; He
+had feared that sort of thing in other cases, and his fears had been
+justified; for, though he was an artist to the essence, the modern reactionary
+nymph, with the brambles of the woodland caught in her folds and a look
+as if the satyrs had toyed with her hair, made him shrink not as a man
+of starch and patent leather, but as a man potentially himself a poet
+or even a faun.&nbsp; The girl was really more candid than her costume,
+and the best proof of it was her supposing her liberal character suited
+by any uniform.&nbsp; This was a fallacy, since if she was draped as
+a pessimist he was sure she liked the taste of life.&nbsp; He thanked
+her for her appreciation&mdash;aware at the same time that he didn&rsquo;t
+appear to thank her enough and that she might think him ungracious.&nbsp;
+He was afraid she would ask him to explain something he had written,
+and he always winced at that&mdash;perhaps too timidly&mdash;for to
+his own ear the explanation of a work of art sounded fatuous.&nbsp;
+But he liked her so much as to feel a confidence that in the long run
+he should be able to show her he wasn&rsquo;t rudely evasive.&nbsp;
+Moreover she surely wasn&rsquo;t quick to take offence, wasn&rsquo;t
+irritable; she could be trusted to wait.&nbsp; So when he said to her,
+&ldquo;Ah don&rsquo;t talk of anything I&rsquo;ve done, don&rsquo;t
+talk of it <i>here</i>; there&rsquo;s another man in the house who&rsquo;s
+the actuality!&rdquo;&mdash;when he uttered this short sincere protest
+it was with the sense that she would see in the words neither mock humility
+nor the impatience of a successful man bored with praise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You mean Mr. St. George&mdash;isn&rsquo;t he delightful?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul Overt met her eyes, which had a cool morning-light that would
+have half-broken his heart if he hadn&rsquo;t been so young.&nbsp; &ldquo;Alas
+I don&rsquo;t know him.&nbsp; I only admire him at a distance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh you must know him&mdash;he wants so to talk to you,&rdquo;
+returned Miss Fancourt, who evidently had the habit of saying the things
+that, by her quick calculation, would give people pleasure.&nbsp; Paul
+saw how she would always calculate on everything&rsquo;s being simple
+between others.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t have supposed he knew anything about me,&rdquo;
+he professed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He does then&mdash;everything.&nbsp; And if he didn&rsquo;t
+I should be able to tell him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To tell him everything?&rdquo; our friend smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You talk just like the people in your book!&rdquo; she answered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then they must all talk alike.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She thought a moment, not a bit disconcerted.&nbsp; &ldquo;Well,
+it must be so difficult.&nbsp; Mr. St. George tells me it <i>is</i>&mdash;terribly.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve tried too&mdash;and I find it so.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve tried
+to write a novel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. St. George oughtn&rsquo;t to discourage you,&rdquo; Paul
+went so far as to say.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You do much more&mdash;when you wear that expression.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, after all, why try to be an artist?&rdquo; the young
+man pursued.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s so poor&mdash;so poor!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean,&rdquo; said Miss Fancourt,
+who looked grave.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean as compared with being a person of action&mdash;as
+living your works.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But what&rsquo;s art but an intense life&mdash;if it be real?&rdquo;
+she asked.&nbsp; &ldquo;I think it&rsquo;s the only one&mdash;everything
+else is so clumsy!&rdquo;&nbsp; Her companion laughed, and she brought
+out with her charming serenity what next struck her.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+so interesting to meet so many celebrated people.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So I should think&mdash;but surely it isn&rsquo;t new to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why I&rsquo;ve never seen any one&mdash;any one: living always
+in Asia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The way she talked of Asia somehow enchanted him.&nbsp; &ldquo;But
+doesn&rsquo;t that continent swarm with great figures?&nbsp; Haven&rsquo;t
+you administered provinces in India and had captive rajahs and tributary
+princes chained to your car?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was as if she didn&rsquo;t care even <i>should</i> he amuse himself
+at her cost.&nbsp; &ldquo;I was with my father, after I left school
+to go out there.&nbsp; It was delightful being with him&mdash;we&rsquo;re
+alone together in the world, he and I&mdash;but there was none of the
+society I like best.&nbsp; One never heard of a picture&mdash;never
+of a book, except bad ones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never of a picture?&nbsp; Why, wasn&rsquo;t all life a picture?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She looked over the delightful place where they sat.&nbsp; &ldquo;Nothing
+to compare to this.&nbsp; I adore England!&rdquo; she cried.</p>
+<p>It fairly stirred in him the sacred chord.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah of course
+I don&rsquo;t deny that we must do something with her, poor old dear,
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She hasn&rsquo;t been touched, really,&rdquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did Mr. St. George say that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a small and, as he felt, harmless spark of irony in his
+question; which, however, she answered very simply, not noticing the
+insinuation.&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes, he says England hasn&rsquo;t been touched&mdash;not
+considering all there is,&rdquo; she went on eagerly.&nbsp; &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+so interesting about our country.&nbsp; To listen to him makes one want
+so to do something.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It would make <i>me</i> want to,&rdquo; said Paul Overt, feeling
+strongly, on the instant, the suggestion of what she said and that of
+the emotion with which she said it, and well aware of what an incentive,
+on St. George&rsquo;s lips, such a speech might be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh you&mdash;as if you hadn&rsquo;t!&nbsp; I should like so
+to hear you talk together,&rdquo; she added ardently.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s very genial of you; but he&rsquo;d have it all
+his own way.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m prostrate before him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She had an air of earnestness.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you think then he&rsquo;s
+so perfect?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Far from it.&nbsp; Some of his later books seem to me of a
+queerness&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, yes&mdash;he knows that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul Overt stared.&nbsp; &ldquo;That they seem to me of a queerness&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well yes, or at any rate that they&rsquo;re not what they
+should be.&nbsp; He told me he didn&rsquo;t esteem them.&nbsp; He has
+told me such wonderful things&mdash;he&rsquo;s so interesting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a certain shock for Paul Overt in the knowledge that the
+fine genius they were talking of had been reduced to so explicit a confession
+and had made it, in his misery, to the first comer; for though Miss
+Fancourt was charming what was she after all but an immature girl encountered
+at a country-house?&nbsp; Yet precisely this was part of the sentiment
+he himself had just expressed: he would make way completely for the
+poor peccable great man not because he didn&rsquo;t read him clear,
+but altogether because he did.&nbsp; His consideration was half composed
+of tenderness for superficialities which he was sure their perpetrator
+judged privately, judged more ferociously than any one, and which represented
+some tragic intellectual secret.&nbsp; He would have his reasons for
+his psychology &agrave; fleur de peau, and these reasons could only
+be cruel ones, such as would make him dearer to those who already were
+fond of him.&nbsp; &ldquo;You excite my envy.&nbsp; I have my reserves,
+I discriminate&mdash;but I love him,&rdquo; Paul said in a moment.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;And seeing him for the first time this way is a great event for
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How momentous&mdash;how magnificent!&rdquo; cried the girl.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;How delicious to bring you together!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your doing it&mdash;that makes it perfect,&rdquo; our friend
+returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s as eager as you,&rdquo; she went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;But
+it&rsquo;s so odd you shouldn&rsquo;t have met.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not really so odd as it strikes you.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve
+been out of England so much&mdash;made repeated absences all these last
+years.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She took this in with interest.&nbsp; &ldquo;And yet you write of
+it as well as if you were always here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just the being away perhaps.&nbsp; At any rate
+the best bits, I suspect, are those that were done in dreary places
+abroad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And why were they dreary?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Because they were health-resorts&mdash;where my poor mother
+was dying.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your poor mother?&rdquo;&mdash;she was all sweet wonder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We went from place to place to help her to get better.&nbsp;
+But she never did.&nbsp; To the deadly Riviera (I hate it!) to the high
+Alps, to Algiers, and far away&mdash;a hideous journey&mdash;to Colorado.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And she isn&rsquo;t better?&rdquo; Miss Fancourt went on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She died a year ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Really?&mdash;like mine!&nbsp; Only that&rsquo;s years since.&nbsp;
+Some day you must tell me about your mother,&rdquo; she added.</p>
+<p>He could at first, on this, only gaze at her.&nbsp; &ldquo;What right
+things you say!&nbsp; If you say them to St. George I don&rsquo;t wonder
+he&rsquo;s in bondage.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It pulled her up for a moment.&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what
+you mean.&nbsp; He doesn&rsquo;t make speeches and professions at all&mdash;he
+isn&rsquo;t ridiculous.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you consider then that I am.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t&rdquo;&mdash;she spoke it rather shortly.&nbsp;
+And then she added: &ldquo;He understands&mdash;understands everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man was on the point of saying jocosely: &ldquo;And I don&rsquo;t&mdash;is
+that it?&rdquo;&nbsp; But these words, in time, changed themselves to
+others slightly less trivial: &ldquo;Do you suppose he understands his
+wife?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Miss Fancourt made no direct answer, but after a moment&rsquo;s hesitation
+put it: &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t she charming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not in the least!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here he comes.&nbsp; Now you must know him,&rdquo; she went
+on.&nbsp; A small group of visitors had gathered at the other end of
+the gallery and had been there overtaken by Henry St. George, who strolled
+in from a neighbouring room.&nbsp; He stood near them a moment, not
+falling into the talk but taking up an old miniature from a table and
+vaguely regarding it.&nbsp; At the end of a minute he became aware of
+Miss Fancourt and her companion in the distance; whereupon, laying down
+his miniature, he approached them with the same procrastinating air,
+his hands in his pockets and his eyes turned, right and left, to the
+pictures.&nbsp; The gallery was so long that this transit took some
+little time, especially as there was a moment when he stopped to admire
+the fine Gainsborough.&nbsp; &ldquo;He says Mrs. St. George has been
+the making of him,&rdquo; the girl continued in a voice slightly lowered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah he&rsquo;s often obscure!&rdquo; Paul laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Obscure?&rdquo; she repeated as if she heard it for the first
+time.&nbsp; Her eyes rested on her other friend, and it wasn&rsquo;t
+lost upon Paul that they appeared to send out great shafts of softness.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to speak to us!&rdquo; she fondly breathed.&nbsp;
+There was a sort of rapture in her voice, and our friend was startled.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Bless my soul, does she care for him like <i>that</i>?&mdash;is
+she in love with him?&rdquo; he mentally enquired.&nbsp; &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t
+I tell you he was eager?&rdquo; she had meanwhile asked of him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s eagerness dissimulated,&rdquo; the young man returned
+as the subject of their observation lingered before his Gainsborough.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;He edges toward us shyly.&nbsp; Does he mean that she saved him
+by burning that book?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That book? what book did she burn?&rdquo;&nbsp; The girl quickly
+turned her face to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t he told you then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a word.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then he doesn&rsquo;t tell you everything!&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul
+had guessed that she pretty much supposed he did.&nbsp; The great man
+had now resumed his course and come nearer; in spite of which his more
+qualified admirer risked a profane observation: &ldquo;St. George and
+the Dragon is what the anecdote suggests!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His companion, however, didn&rsquo;t hear it; she smiled at the dragon&rsquo;s
+adversary.&nbsp; &ldquo;He <i>is</i> eager&mdash;he is!&rdquo; she insisted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eager for you&mdash;yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But meanwhile she had called out: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you want
+to know Mr. Overt.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll be great friends, and it will
+always be delightful to me to remember I was here when you first met
+and that I had something to do with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a freshness of intention in the words that carried them
+off; nevertheless our young man was sorry for Henry St. George, as he
+was sorry at any time for any person publicly invited to be responsive
+and delightful.&nbsp; He would have been so touched to believe that
+a man he deeply admired should care a straw for him that he wouldn&rsquo;t
+play with such a presumption if it were possibly vain.&nbsp; In a single
+glance of the eye of the pardonable Master he read&mdash;having the
+sort of divination that belonged to his talent&mdash;that this personage
+had ever a store of friendly patience, which was part of his rich outfit,
+but was versed in no printed page of a rising scribbler.&nbsp; There
+was even a relief, a simplification, in that: liking him so much already
+for what he had done, how could one have liked him any more for a perception
+which must at the best have been vague?&nbsp; Paul Overt got up, trying
+to show his compassion, but at the same instant he found himself encompassed
+by St. George&rsquo;s happy personal art&mdash;a manner of which it
+was the essence to conjure away false positions.&nbsp; It all took place
+in a moment.&nbsp; Paul was conscious that he knew him now, conscious
+of his handshake and of the very quality of his hand; of his face, seen
+nearer and consequently seen better, of a general fraternising assurance,
+and in particular of the circumstance that St. George didn&rsquo;t dislike
+him (as yet at least) for being imposed by a charming but too gushing
+girl, attractive enough without such danglers.&nbsp; No irritation at
+any rate was reflected in the voice with which he questioned Miss Fancourt
+as to some project of a walk&mdash;a general walk of the company round
+the park.&nbsp; He had soon said something to Paul about a talk&mdash;&ldquo;We
+must have a tremendous lot of talk; there are so many things, aren&rsquo;t
+there?&rdquo;&mdash;but our friend could see this idea wouldn&rsquo;t
+in the present case take very immediate effect.&nbsp; All the same he
+was extremely happy, even after the matter of the walk had been settled&mdash;the
+three presently passed back to the other part of the gallery, where
+it was discussed with several members of the party; even when, after
+they had all gone out together, he found himself for half an hour conjoined
+with Mrs. St. George.&nbsp; Her husband had taken the advance with Miss
+Fancourt, and this pair were quite out of sight.&nbsp; It was the prettiest
+of rambles for a summer afternoon&mdash;a grassy circuit, of immense
+extent, skirting the limit of the park within.&nbsp; The park was completely
+surrounded by its old mottled but perfect red wall, which, all the way
+on their left, constituted in itself an object of interest.&nbsp; Mrs.
+St. George mentioned to him the surprising number of acres thus enclosed,
+together with numerous other facts relating to the property and the
+family, and the family&rsquo;s other properties: she couldn&rsquo;t
+too strongly urge on him the importance of seeing their other houses.&nbsp;
+She ran over the names of these and rang the changes on them with the
+facility of practice, making them appear an almost endless list.&nbsp;
+She had received Paul Overt very amiably on his breaking ground with
+her by the mention of his joy in having just made her husband&rsquo;s
+acquaintance, and struck him as so alert and so accommodating a little
+woman that he was rather ashamed of his <i>mot</i> about her to Miss
+Fancourt; though he reflected that a hundred other people, on a hundred
+occasions, would have been sure to make it.&nbsp; He got on with Ms.
+St. George, in short, better than he expected; but this didn&rsquo;t
+prevent her suddenly becoming aware that she was faint with fatigue
+and must take her way back to the house by the shortest cut.&nbsp; She
+professed that she hadn&rsquo;t the strength of a kitten and was a miserable
+wreck; a character he had been too preoccupied to discern in her while
+he wondered in what sense she could be held to have been the making
+of her husband.&nbsp; He had arrived at a glimmering of the answer when
+she announced that she must leave him, though this perception was of
+course provisional.&nbsp; While he was in the very act of placing himself
+at her disposal for the return the situation underwent a change; Lord
+Masham had suddenly turned up, coming back to them, overtaking them,
+emerging from the shrubbery&mdash;Overt could scarcely have said how
+he appeared&mdash;and Mrs. St. George had protested that she wanted
+to be left alone and not to break up the party.&nbsp; A moment later
+she was walking off with Lord Masham.&nbsp; Our friend fell back and
+joined Lady Watermouth, to whom he presently mentioned that Mrs. St.
+George had been obliged to renounce the attempt to go further.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She oughtn&rsquo;t to have come out at all,&rdquo; her ladyship
+rather grumpily remarked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is she so very much of an invalid?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Very bad indeed.&rdquo;&nbsp; And his hostess added with still
+greater austerity: &ldquo;She oughtn&rsquo;t really to come to one!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+He wondered what was implied by this, and presently gathered that it
+was not a reflexion on the lady&rsquo;s conduct or her moral nature:
+it only represented that her strength was not equal to her aspirations.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+<p>The smoking-room at Summersoft was on the scale of the rest of the
+place; high light commodious and decorated with such refined old carvings
+and mouldings that it seemed rather a bower for ladies who should sit
+at work at fading crewels than a parliament of gentlemen smoking strong
+cigars.&nbsp; The gentlemen mustered there in considerable force on
+the Sunday evening, collecting mainly at one end, in front of one of
+the cool fair fireplaces of white marble, the entablature of which was
+adorned with a delicate little Italian &ldquo;subject.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+There was another in the wall that faced it, and, thanks to the mild
+summer night, a fire in neither; but a nucleus for aggregation was furnished
+on one side by a table in the chimney-corner laden with bottles, decanters
+and tall tumblers.&nbsp; Paul Overt was a faithless smoker; he would
+puff a cigarette for reasons with which tobacco had nothing to do.&nbsp;
+This was particularly the case on the occasion of which I speak; his
+motive was the vision of a little direct talk with Henry St. George.&nbsp;
+The &ldquo;tremendous&rdquo; communion of which the great man had held
+out hopes to him earlier in the day had not yet come off, and this saddened
+him considerably, for the party was to go its several ways immediately
+after breakfast on the morrow.&nbsp; He had, however, the disappointment
+of finding that apparently the author of &ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; was
+not disposed to prolong his vigil.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t among the gentlemen
+assembled when Paul entered, nor was he one of those who turned up,
+in bright habiliments, during the next ten minutes.&nbsp; The young
+man waited a little, wondering if he had only gone to put on something
+extraordinary; this would account for his delay as well as contribute
+further to Overt&rsquo;s impression of his tendency to do the approved
+superficial thing.&nbsp; But he didn&rsquo;t arrive&mdash;he must have
+been putting on something more extraordinary than was probable.&nbsp;
+Our hero gave him up, feeling a little injured, a little wounded, at
+this loss of twenty coveted words.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t angry, but
+he puffed his cigarette sighingly, with the sense of something rare
+possibly missed.&nbsp; He wandered away with his regret and moved slowly
+round the room, looking at the old prints on the walls.&nbsp; In this
+attitude he presently felt a hand on his shoulder and a friendly voice
+in his ear &ldquo;This is good.&nbsp; I hoped I should find you.&nbsp;
+I came down on purpose.&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George was there without a
+change of dress and with a fine face&mdash;his graver one&mdash;to which
+our young man all in a flutter responded.&nbsp; He explained that it
+was only for the Master&mdash;the idea of a little talk&mdash;that he
+had sat up, and that, not finding him, he had been on the point of going
+to bed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you know, I don&rsquo;t smoke&mdash;my wife doesn&rsquo;t
+let me,&rdquo; said St. George, looking for a place to sit down.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very good for me&mdash;very good for me.&nbsp; Let
+us take that sofa.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean smoking&rsquo;s good for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No no&mdash;her not letting me.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a great thing
+to have a wife who&rsquo;s so sure of all the things one can do without.&nbsp;
+One might never find them out one&rsquo;s self.&nbsp; She doesn&rsquo;t
+allow me to touch a cigarette.&rdquo;&nbsp; They took possession of
+a sofa at a distance from the group of smokers, and St. George went
+on: &ldquo;Have you got one yourself?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean a cigarette?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Dear no&mdash;a wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No; and yet I&rsquo;d give up my cigarette for one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;d give up a good deal more than that,&rdquo; St.
+George returned.&nbsp; &ldquo;However, you&rsquo;d get a great deal
+in return.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a something to be said for wives,&rdquo;
+he added, folding his arms and crossing his outstretched legs.&nbsp;
+He declined tobacco altogether and sat there without returning fire.&nbsp;
+His companion stopped smoking, touched by his courtesy; and after all
+they were out of the fumes, their sofa was in a far-away corner.&nbsp;
+It would have been a mistake, St. George went on, a great mistake for
+them to have separated without a little chat; &ldquo;for I know all
+about you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I know you&rsquo;re very remarkable.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;ve written a very distinguished book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And how do you know it?&rdquo; Paul asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, my dear fellow, it&rsquo;s in the air, it&rsquo;s in
+the papers, it&rsquo;s everywhere.&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George spoke with
+the immediate familiarity of a confr&egrave;re&mdash;a tone that seemed
+to his neighbour the very rustle of the laurel.&nbsp; &ldquo;You&rsquo;re
+on all men&rsquo;s lips and, what&rsquo;s better, on all women&rsquo;s.&nbsp;
+And I&rsquo;ve just been reading your book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just?&nbsp; You hadn&rsquo;t read it this afternoon,&rdquo;
+said Overt.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do you know that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think you should know how I know it,&rdquo; the young man
+laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose Miss Fancourt told you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No indeed&mdash;she led me rather to suppose you had.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;that&rsquo;s much more what she&rsquo;d do.&nbsp;
+Doesn&rsquo;t she shed a rosy glow over life?&nbsp; But you didn&rsquo;t
+believe her?&rdquo; asked St. George.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, not when you came to us there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did I pretend? did I pretend badly?&rdquo;&nbsp; But without
+waiting for an answer to this St. George went on: &ldquo;You ought always
+to believe such a girl as that&mdash;always, always.&nbsp; Some women
+are meant to be taken with allowances and reserves; but you must take
+<i>her</i> just as she is.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I like her very much,&rdquo; said Paul Overt.</p>
+<p>Something in his tone appeared to excite on his companion&rsquo;s
+part a momentary sense of the absurd; perhaps it was the air of deliberation
+attending this judgement.&nbsp; St. George broke into a laugh to reply.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the best thing you can do with her.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s
+a rare young lady!&nbsp; In point of fact, however, I confess I hadn&rsquo;t
+read you this afternoon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you see how right I was in this particular case not to
+believe Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How right? how can I agree to that when I lost credit by it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you wish to pass exactly for what she represents you?&nbsp;
+Certainly you needn&rsquo;t be afraid,&rdquo; Paul said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, my dear young man, don&rsquo;t talk about passing&mdash;for
+the likes of me!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m passing away&mdash;nothing else than
+that.&nbsp; She has a better use for her young imagination (isn&rsquo;t
+it fine?) than in &lsquo;representing&rsquo; in any way such a weary
+wasted used-up animal!&rdquo;&nbsp; The Master spoke with a sudden sadness
+that produced a protest on Paul&rsquo;s part; but before the protest
+could be uttered he went on, reverting to the latter&rsquo;s striking
+novel: &ldquo;I had no idea you were so good&mdash;one hears of so many
+things.&nbsp; But you&rsquo;re surprisingly good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to be surprisingly better,&rdquo; Overt made
+bold to reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see that, and it&rsquo;s what fetches me.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+see so much else&mdash;as one looks about&mdash;that&rsquo;s going to
+be surprisingly better.&nbsp; They&rsquo;re going to be consistently
+worse&mdash;most of the things.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s so much easier to be
+worse&mdash;heaven knows I&rsquo;ve found it so.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not
+in a great glow, you know, about what&rsquo;s breaking out all over
+the place.&nbsp; But you <i>must</i> be better&mdash;you really must
+keep it up.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t of course.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s very difficult&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+the devil of the whole thing, keeping it up.&nbsp; But I see you&rsquo;ll
+be able to.&nbsp; It will be a great disgrace if you don&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very interesting to hear you speak of yourself;
+but I don&rsquo;t know what you mean by your allusions to your having
+fallen off,&rdquo; Paul Overt observed with pardonable hypocrisy.&nbsp;
+He liked his companion so much now that the fact of any decline of talent
+or of care had ceased for the moment to be vivid to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that&mdash;don&rsquo;t say that,&rdquo; St.
+George returned gravely, his head resting on the top of the sofa-back
+and his eyes on the ceiling.&nbsp; &ldquo;You know perfectly what I
+mean.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t read twenty pages of your book without seeing
+that you can&rsquo;t help it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You make me very miserable,&rdquo; Paul ecstatically breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad of that, for it may serve as a kind of warning.&nbsp;
+Shocking enough it must be, especially to a young fresh mind, full of
+faith&mdash;the spectacle of a man meant for better things sunk at my
+age in such dishonour.&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George, in the same contemplative
+attitude, spoke softly but deliberately, and without perceptible emotion.&nbsp;
+His tone indeed suggested an impersonal lucidity that was practically
+cruel&mdash;cruel to himself&mdash;and made his young friend lay an
+argumentative hand on his arm.&nbsp; But he went on while his eyes seemed
+to follow the graces of the eighteenth-century ceiling: &ldquo;Look
+at me well, take my lesson to heart&mdash;for it <i>is</i> a lesson.&nbsp;
+Let that good come of it at least that you shudder with your pitiful
+impression, and that this may help to keep you straight in the future.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t become in your old age what I have in mine&mdash;the depressing,
+the deplorable illustration of the worship of false gods!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you mean by your old age?&rdquo; the young man asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It has made me old.&nbsp; But I like your youth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul answered nothing&mdash;they sat for a minute in silence.&nbsp;
+They heard the others going on about the governmental majority.&nbsp;
+Then &ldquo;What do you mean by false gods?&rdquo; he enquired.</p>
+<p>His companion had no difficulty whatever in saying, &ldquo;The idols
+of the market; money and luxury and &lsquo;the world;&rsquo; placing
+one&rsquo;s children and dressing one&rsquo;s wife; everything that
+drives one to the short and easy way.&nbsp; Ah the vile things they
+make one do!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But surely one&rsquo;s right to want to place one&rsquo;s
+children.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One has no business to have any children,&rdquo; St. George
+placidly declared.&nbsp; &ldquo;I mean of course if one wants to do
+anything good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But aren&rsquo;t they an inspiration&mdash;an incentive?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An incentive to damnation, artistically speaking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You touch on very deep things&mdash;things I should like to
+discuss with you,&rdquo; Paul said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I should like you to
+tell me volumes about yourself.&nbsp; This is a great feast for <i>me</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course it is, cruel youth.&nbsp; But to show you I&rsquo;m
+still not incapable, degraded as I am, of an act of faith, I&rsquo;ll
+tie my vanity to the stake for you and burn it to ashes.&nbsp; You must
+come and see me&mdash;you must come and see us,&rdquo; the Master quickly
+substituted.&nbsp; &ldquo;Mrs. St. George is charming; I don&rsquo;t
+know whether you&rsquo;ve had any opportunity to talk with her.&nbsp;
+She&rsquo;ll be delighted to see you; she likes great celebrities, whether
+incipient or predominant.&nbsp; You must come and dine&mdash;my wife
+will write to you.&nbsp; Where are you to be found?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is my little address&rdquo;&mdash;and Overt drew out
+his pocketbook and extracted a visiting-card.&nbsp; On second thoughts,
+however, he kept it back, remarking that he wouldn&rsquo;t trouble his
+friend to take charge of it but would come and see him straightway in
+London and leave it at his door if he should fail to obtain entrance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you&rsquo;ll probably fail; my wife&rsquo;s always out&mdash;or
+when she isn&rsquo;t out is knocked up from having been out.&nbsp; You
+must come and dine&mdash;though that won&rsquo;t do much good either,
+for my wife insists on big dinners.&rdquo;&nbsp; St. George turned it
+over further, but then went on: &ldquo;You must come down and see us
+in the country, that&rsquo;s the best way; we&rsquo;ve plenty of room,
+and it isn&rsquo;t bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve a house in the country?&rdquo; Paul asked enviously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah not like this!&nbsp; But we have a sort of place we go
+to&mdash;an hour from Euston.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s one of the reasons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of the reasons?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why my books are so bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You must tell me all the others!&rdquo; Paul longingly laughed.</p>
+<p>His friend made no direct rejoinder to this, but spoke again abruptly.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Why have I never seen you before?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tone of the question was singularly flattering to our hero, who
+felt it to imply the great man&rsquo;s now perceiving he had for years
+missed something.&nbsp; &ldquo;Partly, I suppose, because there has
+been no particular reason why you should see me.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t
+lived in the world&mdash;in your world.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve spent many
+years out of England, in different places abroad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, please don&rsquo;t do it any more.&nbsp; You must do
+England&mdash;there&rsquo;s such a lot of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean I must write about it?&rdquo; and Paul struck
+the note of the listening candour of a child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you must.&nbsp; And tremendously well, do you mind?&nbsp;
+That takes off a little of my esteem for this thing of yours&mdash;that
+it goes on abroad.&nbsp; Hang &lsquo;abroad!&rsquo;&nbsp; Stay at home
+and do things here&mdash;do subjects we can measure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do whatever you tell me,&rdquo; Overt said, deeply
+attentive.&nbsp; &ldquo;But pardon me if I say I don&rsquo;t understand
+how you&rsquo;ve been reading my book,&rdquo; he added.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+had you before me all the afternoon, first in that long walk, then at
+tea on the lawn, till we went to dress for dinner, and all the evening
+at dinner and in this place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George turned his face about with a smile.&nbsp; &ldquo;I gave
+it but a quarter of an hour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A quarter of an hour&rsquo;s immense, but I don&rsquo;t understand
+where you put it in.&nbsp; In the drawing-room after dinner you weren&rsquo;t
+reading&mdash;you were talking to Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It comes to the same thing, because we talked about &lsquo;Ginistrella.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+She described it to me&mdash;she lent me her copy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lent it to you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She travels with it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s incredible,&rdquo; Paul blushed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s glorious for you, but it also turned out very well
+for me.&nbsp; When the ladies went off to bed she kindly offered to
+send the book down to me.&nbsp; Her maid brought it to me in the hall
+and I went to my room with it.&nbsp; I hadn&rsquo;t thought of coming
+here, I do that so little.&nbsp; But I don&rsquo;t sleep early, I always
+have to read an hour or two.&nbsp; I sat down to your novel on the spot,
+without undressing, without taking off anything but my coat.&nbsp; I
+think that&rsquo;s a sign my curiosity had been strongly roused about
+it.&nbsp; I read a quarter of an hour, as I tell you, and even in a
+quarter of an hour I was greatly struck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah the beginning isn&rsquo;t very good&mdash;it&rsquo;s the
+whole thing!&rdquo; said Overt, who had listened to this recital with
+extreme interest.&nbsp; &ldquo;And you laid down the book and came after
+me?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way it moved me.&nbsp; I said to myself &lsquo;I
+see it&rsquo;s off his own bat, and he&rsquo;s there, by the way, and
+the day&rsquo;s over and I haven&rsquo;t said twenty words to him.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+It occurred to me that you&rsquo;d probably be in the smoking-room and
+that it wouldn&rsquo;t be too late to repair my omission.&nbsp; I wanted
+to do something civil to you, so I put on my coat and came down.&nbsp;
+I shall read your book again when I go up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our friend faced round in his place&mdash;he was touched as he had
+scarce ever been by the picture of such a demonstration in his favour.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re really the kindest of men.&nbsp; Cela s&rsquo;est
+pass&eacute; comme &ccedil;a?&mdash;and I&rsquo;ve been sitting here
+with you all this time and never apprehended it and never thanked you!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank Miss Fancourt&mdash;it was she who wound me up.&nbsp;
+She has made me feel as if I had read your novel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s an angel from heaven!&rdquo; Paul declared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She is indeed.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve never seen any one like her.&nbsp;
+Her interest in literature&rsquo;s touching&mdash;something quite peculiar
+to herself; she takes it all so seriously.&nbsp; She feels the arts
+and she wants to feel them more.&nbsp; To those who practise them it&rsquo;s
+almost humiliating&mdash;her curiosity, her sympathy, her good faith.&nbsp;
+How can anything be as fine as she supposes it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a rare organisation,&rdquo; the younger man sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The richest I&rsquo;ve ever seen&mdash;an artistic intelligence
+really of the first order.&nbsp; And lodged in such a form!&rdquo; St.
+George exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One would like to represent such a girl as that,&rdquo; Paul
+continued.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah there it is&mdash;there&rsquo;s nothing like life!&rdquo;
+said his companion.&nbsp; &ldquo;When you&rsquo;re finished, squeezed
+dry and used up and you think the sack&rsquo;s empty, you&rsquo;re still
+appealed to, you still get touches and thrills, the idea springs up&mdash;out
+of the lap of the actual&mdash;and shows you there&rsquo;s always something
+to be done.&nbsp; But I shan&rsquo;t do it&mdash;she&rsquo;s not for
+me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How do you mean, not for you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh it&rsquo;s all over&mdash;she&rsquo;s for you, if you like.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah much less!&rdquo; said Paul.&nbsp; &ldquo;She&rsquo;s not
+for a dingy little man of letters; she&rsquo;s for the world, the bright
+rich world of bribes and rewards.&nbsp; And the world will take hold
+of her&mdash;it will carry her away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It will try&mdash;but it&rsquo;s just a case in which there
+may be a fight.&nbsp; It would be worth fighting, for a man who had
+it in him, with youth and talent on his side.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>These words rang not a little in Paul Overt&rsquo;s consciousness&mdash;they
+held him briefly silent.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wonder she has remained
+as she is; giving herself away so&mdash;with so much to give away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Remaining, you mean, so ingenuous&mdash;so natural?&nbsp;
+Oh she doesn&rsquo;t care a straw&mdash;she gives away because she overflows.&nbsp;
+She has her own feelings, her own standards; she doesn&rsquo;t keep
+remembering that she must be proud.&nbsp; And then she hasn&rsquo;t
+been here long enough to be spoiled; she has picked up a fashion or
+two, but only the amusing ones.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a provincial&mdash;a
+provincial of genius,&rdquo; St. George went on; &ldquo;her very blunders
+are charming, her mistakes are interesting.&nbsp; She has come back
+from Asia with all sorts of excited curiosities and unappeased appetities.&nbsp;
+She&rsquo;s first-rate herself and she expends herself on the second-rate.&nbsp;
+She&rsquo;s life herself and she takes a rare interest in imitations.&nbsp;
+She mixes all things up, but there are none in regard to which she hasn&rsquo;t
+perceptions.&nbsp; She sees things in a perspective&mdash;as if from
+the top of the Himalayas&mdash;and she enlarges everything she touches.&nbsp;
+Above all she exaggerates&mdash;to herself, I mean.&nbsp; She exaggerates
+you and me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was nothing in that description to allay the agitation caused
+in our younger friend by such a sketch of a fine subject.&nbsp; It seemed
+to him to show the art of St. George&rsquo;s admired hand, and he lost
+himself in gazing at the vision&mdash;this hovered there before him&mdash;of
+a woman&rsquo;s figure which should be part of the glory of a novel.&nbsp;
+But at the end of a moment the thing had turned into smoke, and out
+of the smoke&mdash;the last puff of a big cigar&mdash;proceeded the
+voice of General Fancourt, who had left the others and come and planted
+himself before the gentlemen on the sofa.&nbsp; &ldquo;I suppose that
+when you fellows get talking you sit up half the night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Half the night?&mdash;jamais de la vie!&nbsp; I follow a hygiene&rdquo;&mdash;and
+St. George rose to his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see&mdash;you&rsquo;re hothouse plants,&rdquo; laughed the
+General.&nbsp; &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way you produce your flowers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I produce mine between ten and one every morning&mdash;I bloom
+with a regularity!&rdquo; St. George went on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And with a splendour!&rdquo; added the polite General, while
+Paul noted how little the author of &ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; minded,
+as he phrased it to himself, when addressed as a celebrated story-teller.&nbsp;
+The young man had an idea <i>he</i> should never get used to that; it
+would always make him uncomfortable&mdash;from the suspicion that people
+would think they had to&mdash;and he would want to prevent it.&nbsp;
+Evidently his great colleague had toughened and hardened&mdash;had made
+himself a surface.&nbsp; The group of men had finished their cigars
+and taken up their bedroom candlesticks; but before they all passed
+out Lord Watermouth invited the pair of guests who had been so absorbed
+together to &ldquo;have&rdquo; something.&nbsp; It happened that they
+both declined; upon which General Fancourt said: &ldquo;Is that the
+hygiene?&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t water the flowers?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I should drown them!&rdquo; St. George replied; but, leaving
+the room still at his young friend&rsquo;s side, he added whimsically,
+for the latter&rsquo;s benefit, in a lower tone: &ldquo;My wife doesn&rsquo;t
+let me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well I&rsquo;m glad I&rsquo;m not one of you fellows!&rdquo;
+the General richly concluded.</p>
+<p>The nearness of Summersoft to London had this consequence, chilling
+to a person who had had a vision of sociability in a railway-carriage,
+that most of the company, after breakfast, drove back to town, entering
+their own vehicles, which had come out to fetch them, while their servants
+returned by train with their luggage.&nbsp; Three or four young men,
+among whom was Paul Overt, also availed themselves of the common convenience;
+but they stood in the portico of the house and saw the others roll away.&nbsp;
+Miss Fancourt got into a victoria with her father after she had shaken
+hands with our hero and said, smiling in the frankest way in the world,
+&ldquo;I <i>must</i> see you more.&nbsp; Mrs. St. George is so nice:
+she has promised to ask us both to dinner together.&rdquo;&nbsp; This
+lady and her husband took their places in a perfectly-appointed brougham&mdash;she
+required a closed carriage&mdash;and as our young man waved his hat
+to them in response to their nods and flourishes he reflected that,
+taken together, they were an honourable image of success, of the material
+rewards and the social credit of literature.&nbsp; Such things were
+not the full measure, but he nevertheless felt a little proud for literature.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+<p>Before a week had elapsed he met Miss Fancourt in Bond Street, at
+a private view of the works of a young artist in &ldquo;black-and-white&rdquo;
+who had been so good as to invite him to the stuffy scene.&nbsp; The
+drawings were admirable, but the crowd in the one little room was so
+dense that he felt himself up to his neck in a sack of wool.&nbsp; A
+fringe of people at the outer edge endeavoured by curving forward their
+backs and presenting, below them, a still more convex surface of resistance
+to the pressure of the mass, to preserve an interval between their noses
+and the glazed mounts of the pictures; while the central body, in the
+comparative gloom projected by a wide horizontal screen hung under the
+skylight and allowing only a margin for the day, remained upright dense
+and vague, lost in the contemplation of its own ingredients.&nbsp; This
+contemplation sat especially in the sad eyes of certain female heads,
+surmounted with hats of strange convolution and plumage, which rose
+on long necks above the others.&nbsp; One of the heads Paul perceived,
+was much the so most beautiful of the collection, and his next discovery
+was that it belonged to Miss Fancourt.&nbsp; Its beauty was enhanced
+by the glad smile she sent him across surrounding obstructions, a smile
+that drew him to her as fast as he could make his way.&nbsp; He had
+seen for himself at Summersoft that the last thing her nature contained
+was an affectation of indifference; yet even with this circumspection
+he took a fresh satisfaction in her not having pretended to await his
+arrival with composure.&nbsp; She smiled as radiantly as if she wished
+to make him hurry, and as soon as he came within earshot she broke out
+in her voice of joy: &ldquo;He&rsquo;s here&mdash;he&rsquo;s here&mdash;he&rsquo;s
+coming back in a moment!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah your father?&rdquo; Paul returned as she offered him her
+hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh dear no, this isn&rsquo;t in my poor father&rsquo;s line.&nbsp;
+I mean Mr. St. George.&nbsp; He has just left me to speak to some one&mdash;he&rsquo;s
+coming back.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s he who brought me&mdash;wasn&rsquo;t it
+charming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah that gives him a pull over me&mdash;I couldn&rsquo;t have
+&lsquo;brought&rsquo; you, could I?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you had been so kind as to propose it&mdash;why not you
+as well as he?&rdquo; the girl returned with a face that, expressing
+no cheap coquetry, simply affirmed a happy fact.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why he&rsquo;s a p&egrave;re de famille.&nbsp; They&rsquo;ve
+privileges,&rdquo; Paul explained.&nbsp; And then quickly: &ldquo;Will
+you go to see places with <i>me</i>?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anything you like!&rdquo; she smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;I know
+what you mean, that girls have to have a lot of people&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Then she broke off: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know; I&rsquo;m free.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve always been like that&mdash;I can go about with any one.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m so glad to meet you,&rdquo; she added with a sweet distinctness
+that made those near her turn round.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of this
+squash,&rdquo; her friend said.&nbsp; &ldquo;Surely people aren&rsquo;t
+happy here!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, they&rsquo;re awfully mornes, aren&rsquo;t they?&nbsp;
+But I&rsquo;m very happy indeed and I promised Mr. St. George to remain
+in this spot till he comes back.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s going to take me away.&nbsp;
+They send him invitations for things of this sort&mdash;more than he
+wants.&nbsp; It was so kind of him to think of me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They also send me invitations of this kind&mdash;more than
+<i>I</i> want.&nbsp; And if thinking of <i>you</i> will do it&mdash;!&rdquo;
+Paul went on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I delight in them&mdash;everything that&rsquo;s life&mdash;everything
+that&rsquo;s London!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t have private views in Asia, I suppose,&rdquo;
+he laughed.&nbsp; &ldquo;But what a pity that for this year, even in
+this gorged city, they&rsquo;re pretty well over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we&rsquo;re
+going to be friends always.&nbsp; Here he comes!&rdquo; Miss Fancourt
+continued before Paul had time to respond.</p>
+<p>He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps
+led to his hurrying a little to say: &ldquo;I hope that doesn&rsquo;t
+mean I&rsquo;m to wait till next year to see you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, no&mdash;aren&rsquo;t we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?&rdquo;
+she panted with an eagerness as happy as his own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s almost next year.&nbsp; Is there no means of
+seeing you before?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stared with all her brightness.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you mean you&rsquo;d
+<i>come</i>?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like a shot, if you&rsquo;ll be so good as to ask me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On Sunday then&mdash;this next Sunday?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What have I done that you should doubt it?&rdquo; the young
+man asked with delight.</p>
+<p>Miss Fancourt turned instantly to St. George, who had now joined
+them, and announced triumphantly: &ldquo;He&rsquo;s coming on Sunday&mdash;this
+next Sunday!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah my day&mdash;my day too!&rdquo; said the famous novelist,
+laughing, to their companion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but not yours only.&nbsp; You shall meet in Manchester
+Square; you shall talk&mdash;you shall be wonderful!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t meet often enough,&rdquo; St. George allowed,
+shaking hands with his disciple.&nbsp; &ldquo;Too many things&mdash;ah
+too many things!&nbsp; But we must make it up in the country in September.&nbsp;
+You won&rsquo;t forget you&rsquo;ve promised me that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why he&rsquo;s coming on the twenty-fifth&mdash;you&rsquo;ll
+see him then,&rdquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;On the twenty-fifth?&rdquo; St. George asked vaguely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We dine with you; I hope you haven&rsquo;t forgotten.&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;s dining out that day,&rdquo; she added gaily to Paul.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh bless me, yes&mdash;that&rsquo;s charming!&nbsp; And you&rsquo;re
+coming?&nbsp; My wife didn&rsquo;t tell me,&rdquo; St. George said to
+him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Too many things&mdash;too many things!&rdquo; he repeated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too many people&mdash;too many people!&rdquo; Paul exclaimed,
+giving ground before the penetration of an elbow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You oughtn&rsquo;t to say that.&nbsp; They all read you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me?&nbsp; I should like to see them!&nbsp; Only two or three
+at most,&rdquo; the young man returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Did you ever hear anything like that?&nbsp; He knows, haughtily,
+how good he is!&rdquo; St. George declared, laughing to Miss Fancourt.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;They read <i>me</i>, but that doesn&rsquo;t make me like them
+any better.&nbsp; Come away from them, come away!&rdquo;&nbsp; And he
+led the way out of the exhibition.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to take me to the Park,&rdquo; Miss Fancourt
+observed to Overt with elation as they passed along the corridor that
+led to the street.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah does he go there?&rdquo; Paul asked, taking the fact for
+a somewhat unexpected illustration of St. George&rsquo;s moeurs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a beautiful day&mdash;there&rsquo;ll be a great
+crowd.&nbsp; We&rsquo;re going to look at the people, to look at types,&rdquo;
+the girl went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;We shall sit under the trees; we shall
+walk by the Row.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I go once a year&mdash;on business,&rdquo; said St. George,
+who had overheard Paul&rsquo;s question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or with a country cousin, didn&rsquo;t you tell me?&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m the country cousin!&rdquo; she continued over her shoulder
+to Paul as their friend drew her toward a hansom to which he had signalled.&nbsp;
+The young man watched them get in; he returned, as he stood there, the
+friendly wave of the hand with which, ensconced in the vehicle beside
+her, St. George took leave of him.&nbsp; He even lingered to see the
+vehicle start away and lose itself in the confusion of Bond Street.&nbsp;
+He followed it with his eyes; it put to him embarrassing things.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not for <i>me</i>!&rdquo; the great novelist had
+said emphatically at Summersoft; but his manner of conducting himself
+toward her appeared not quite in harmony with such a conviction.&nbsp;
+How could he have behaved differently if she <i>had</i> been for him?&nbsp;
+An indefinite envy rose in Paul Overt&rsquo;s heart as he took his way
+on foot alone; a feeling addressed alike strangely enough, to each of
+the occupants of the hansom.&nbsp; How much he should like to rattle
+about London with such a girl!&nbsp; How much he should like to go and
+look at &ldquo;types&rdquo; with St. George!</p>
+<p>The next Sunday at four o&rsquo;clock he called in Manchester Square,
+where his secret wish was gratified by his finding Miss Fancourt alone.&nbsp;
+She was in a large bright friendly occupied room, which was painted
+red all over, draped with the quaint cheap florid stuffs that are represented
+as coming from southern and eastern countries, where they are fabled
+to serve as the counterpanes of the peasantry, and bedecked with pottery
+of vivid hues, ranged on casual shelves, and with many water-colour
+drawings from the hand (as the visitor learned) of the young lady herself,
+commemorating with a brave breadth the sunsets, the mountains, the temples
+and palaces of India.&nbsp; He sat an hour&mdash;more than an hour,
+two hours&mdash;and all the while no one came in.&nbsp; His hostess
+was so good as to remark, with her liberal humanity, that it was delightful
+they weren&rsquo;t interrupted; it was so rare in London, especially
+at that season, that people got a good talk.&nbsp; But luckily now,
+of a fine Sunday, half the world went out of town, and that made it
+better for those who didn&rsquo;t go, when these others were in sympathy.&nbsp;
+It was the defect of London&mdash;one of two or three, the very short
+list of those she recognised in the teeming world-city she adored&mdash;that
+there were too few good chances for talk; you never had time to carry
+anything far.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Too many things&mdash;too many things!&rdquo; Paul said, quoting
+St. George&rsquo;s exclamation of a few days before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes, for him there are too many&mdash;his life&rsquo;s
+too complicated.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Have you seen it <i>near</i>?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what I should
+like to do; it might explain some mysteries,&rdquo; her visitor went
+on.&nbsp; She asked him what mysteries he meant, and he said: &ldquo;Oh
+peculiarities of his work, inequalities, superficialities.&nbsp; For
+one who looks at it from the artistic point of view it contains a bottomless
+ambiguity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She became at this, on the spot, all intensity.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah do
+describe that more&mdash;it&rsquo;s so interesting.&nbsp; There are
+no such suggestive questions.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m so fond of them.&nbsp;
+He thinks he&rsquo;s a failure&mdash;fancy!&rdquo; she beautifully wailed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That depends on what his ideal may have been.&nbsp; With his
+gifts it ought to have been high.&nbsp; But till one knows what he really
+proposed to himself&mdash;?&nbsp; Do <i>you</i> know by chance?&rdquo;
+the young man broke off.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh he doesn&rsquo;t talk to me about himself.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t
+make him.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s too provoking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul was on the point of asking what then he did talk about, but
+discretion checked it and he said instead: &ldquo;Do you think he&rsquo;s
+unhappy at home?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She seemed to wonder.&nbsp; &ldquo;At home?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean in his relations with his wife.&nbsp; He has a mystifying
+little way of alluding to her.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to me,&rdquo; said Marian Fancourt with her clear eyes.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;That wouldn&rsquo;t be right, would it?&rdquo; she asked gravely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not particularly; so I&rsquo;m glad he doesn&rsquo;t mention
+her to you.&nbsp; To praise her might bore you, and he has no business
+to do anything else.&nbsp; Yet he knows you better than me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah but he respects <i>you</i>!&rdquo; the girl cried as with
+envy.</p>
+<p>Her visitor stared a moment, then broke into a laugh.&nbsp; &ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t
+he respect you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course, but not in the same way.&nbsp; He respects what
+you&rsquo;ve done&mdash;he told me so, the other day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul drank it in, but retained his faculties.&nbsp; &ldquo;When you
+went to look at types?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;we found so many: he has such an observation of
+them!&nbsp; He talked a great deal about your book.&nbsp; He says it&rsquo;s
+really important.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Important!&nbsp; Ah the grand creature!&rdquo;&mdash;and the
+author of the work in question groaned for joy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was wonderfully amusing, he was inexpressibly droll, while
+we walked about.&nbsp; He sees everything; he has so many comparisons
+and images, and they&rsquo;re always exactly right.&nbsp; C&rsquo;est
+d&rsquo;un trouv&eacute;, as they say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, with his gifts, such things as he ought to have done!&rdquo;
+Paul sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And don&rsquo;t you think he <i>has</i> done them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ah it was just the point.&nbsp; &ldquo;A part of them, and of course
+even that part&rsquo;s immense.&nbsp; But he might have been one of
+the greatest.&nbsp; However, let us not make this an hour of qualifications.&nbsp;
+Even as they stand,&rdquo; our friend earnestly concluded, &ldquo;his
+writings are a mine of gold.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To this proposition she ardently responded, and for half an hour
+the pair talked over the Master&rsquo;s principal productions.&nbsp;
+She knew them well&mdash;she knew them even better than her visitor,
+who was struck with her critical intelligence and with something large
+and bold in the movement in her mind.&nbsp; She said things that startled
+him and that evidently had come to her directly; they weren&rsquo;t
+picked-up phrases&mdash;she placed them too well.&nbsp; St. George had
+been right about her being first-rate, about her not being afraid to
+gush, not remembering that she must be proud.&nbsp; Suddenly something
+came back to her, and she said: &ldquo;I recollect that he did speak
+of Mrs. St. George to me once.&nbsp; He said, apropos of something or
+other, that she didn&rsquo;t care for perfection.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a great crime in an artist&rsquo;s wife,&rdquo;
+Paul returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, poor thing!&rdquo; and the girl sighed with a suggestion
+of many reflexions, some of them mitigating.&nbsp; But she presently
+added: &ldquo;Ah perfection, perfection&mdash;how one ought to go in
+for it!&nbsp; I wish <i>I</i> could.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Every one can in his way,&rdquo; her companion opined.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In <i>his</i> way, yes&mdash;but not in hers.&nbsp; Women
+are so hampered&mdash;so condemned!&nbsp; Yet it&rsquo;s a kind of dishonour
+if you don&rsquo;t, when you want to <i>do</i> something, isn&rsquo;t
+it?&rdquo;&nbsp; Miss Fancourt pursued, dropping one train in her quickness
+to take up another, an accident that was common with her.&nbsp; So these
+two young persons sat discussing high themes in their eclectic drawing-room,
+in their London &ldquo;season&rdquo;&mdash;discussing, with extreme
+seriousness, the high theme of perfection.&nbsp; It must be said in
+extenuation of this eccentricity that they were interested in the business.&nbsp;
+Their tone had truth and their emotion beauty; they weren&rsquo;t posturing
+for each other or for some one else.</p>
+<p>The subject was so wide that they found themselves reducing it; the
+perfection to which for the moment they agreed to confine their speculations
+was that of the valid, the exemplary work of art.&nbsp; Our young woman&rsquo;s
+imagination, it appeared, had wandered far in that direction, and her
+guest had the rare delight of feeling in their conversation a full interchange.&nbsp;
+This episode will have lived for years in his memory and even in his
+wonder; it had the quality that fortune distils in a single drop at
+a time&mdash;the quality that lubricates many ensuing frictions.&nbsp;
+He still, whenever he likes, has a vision of the room, the bright red
+sociable talkative room with the curtains that, by a stroke of successful
+audacity, had the note of vivid blue.&nbsp; He remembers where certain
+things stood, the particular book open on the table and the almost intense
+odour of the flowers placed, at the left, somewhere behind him.&nbsp;
+These facts were the fringe, as it were, of a fine special agitation
+which had its birth in those two hours and of which perhaps the main
+sign was in its leading him inwardly and repeatedly to breathe &ldquo;I
+had no idea there was any one like this&mdash;I had no idea there was
+any one like this!&rdquo;&nbsp; Her freedom amazed him and charmed him&mdash;it
+seemed so to simplify the practical question.&nbsp; She was on the footing
+of an independent personage&mdash;a motherless girl who had passed out
+of her teens and had a position and responsibilities, who wasn&rsquo;t
+held down to the limitations of a little miss.&nbsp; She came and went
+with no dragged duenna, she received people alone, and, though she was
+totally without hardness, the question of protection or patronage had
+no relevancy in regard to her.&nbsp; She gave such an impression of
+the clear and the noble combined with the easy and the natural that
+in spite of her eminent modern situation she suggested no sort of sister-hood
+with the &ldquo;fast&rdquo; girl.&nbsp; Modern she was indeed, and made
+Paul Overt, who loved old colour, the golden glaze of time, think with
+some alarm of the muddled palette of the future.&nbsp; He couldn&rsquo;t
+get used to her interest in the arts he cared for; it seemed too good
+to be real&mdash;it was so unlikely an adventure to tumble into such
+a well of sympathy.&nbsp; One might stray into the desert easily&mdash;that
+was on the cards and that was the law of life; but it was too rare an
+accident to stumble on a crystal well.&nbsp; Yet if her aspirations
+seemed at one moment too extravagant to be real they struck him at the
+next as too intelligent to be false.&nbsp; They were both high and lame,
+and, whims for whims, he preferred them to any he had met in a like
+relation.&nbsp; It was probable enough she would leave them behind&mdash;exchange
+them for politics or &ldquo;smartness&rdquo; or mere prolific maternity,
+as was the custom of scribbling daubing educated flattered girls in
+an age of luxury and a society of leisure.&nbsp; He noted that the water-colours
+on the walls of the room she sat in had mainly the quality of being
+na&iuml;ves, and reflected that na&iuml;vet&eacute; in art is like a
+zero in a number: its importance depends on the figure it is united
+with.&nbsp; Meanwhile, however, he had fallen in love with her.&nbsp;
+Before he went away, at any rate, he said to her: &ldquo;I thought St.
+George was coming to see you to-day, but he doesn&rsquo;t turn up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a moment he supposed she was going to cry &ldquo;Comment donc?&nbsp;
+Did you come here only to meet him?&rdquo;&nbsp; But the next he became
+aware of how little such a speech would have fallen in with any note
+of flirtation he had as yet perceived in her.&nbsp; She only replied:
+&ldquo;Ah yes, but I don&rsquo;t think he&rsquo;ll come.&nbsp; He recommended
+me not to expect him.&rdquo;&nbsp; Then she gaily but all gently added:
+&ldquo;He said it wasn&rsquo;t fair to you.&nbsp; But I think I could
+manage two.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So could I,&rdquo; Paul Overt returned, stretching the point
+a little to meet her.&nbsp; In reality his appreciation of the occasion
+was so completely an appreciation of the woman before him that another
+figure in the scene, even so esteemed a one as St. George, might for
+the hour have appealed to him vainly.&nbsp; He left the house wondering
+what the great man had meant by its not being fair to him; and, still
+more than that, whether he had actually stayed away from the force of
+that idea.&nbsp; As he took his course through the Sunday solitude of
+Manchester Square, swinging his stick and with a good deal of emotion
+fermenting in his soul, it appeared to him he was living in a world
+strangely magnanimous.&nbsp; Miss Fancourt had told him it was possible
+she should be away, and that her father should be, on the following
+Sunday, but that she had the hope of a visit from him in the other event.&nbsp;
+She promised to let him know should their absence fail, and then he
+might act accordingly.&nbsp; After he had passed into one of the streets
+that open from the Square he stopped, without definite intentions, looking
+sceptically for a cab.&nbsp; In a moment he saw a hansom roll through
+the place from the other side and come a part of the way toward him.&nbsp;
+He was on the point of hailing the driver when he noticed a &ldquo;fare&rdquo;
+within; then he waited, seeing the man prepare to deposit his passenger
+by pulling up at one of the houses.&nbsp; The house was apparently the
+one he himself had just quitted; at least he drew that inference as
+he recognised Henry St. George in the person who stepped out of the
+hansom.&nbsp; Paul turned off as quickly as if he had been caught in
+the act of spying.&nbsp; He gave up his cab&mdash;he preferred to walk;
+he would go nowhere else.&nbsp; He was glad St. George hadn&rsquo;t
+renounced his visit altogether&mdash;that would have been too absurd.&nbsp;
+Yes, the world was magnanimous, and even he himself felt so as, on looking
+at his watch, he noted but six o&rsquo;clock, so that he could mentally
+congratulate his successor on having an hour still to sit in Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s
+drawing-room.&nbsp; He himself might use that hour for another visit,
+but by the time he reached the Marble Arch the idea of such a course
+had become incongruous to him.&nbsp; He passed beneath that architectural
+effort and walked into the Park till he got upon the spreading grass.&nbsp;
+Here he continued to walk; he took his way across the elastic turf and
+came out by the Serpentine.&nbsp; He watched with a friendly eye the
+diversions of the London people, he bent a glance almost encouraging
+on the young ladies paddling their sweethearts about the lake and the
+guardsmen tickling tenderly with their bearskins the artificial flowers
+in the Sunday hats of their partners.&nbsp; He prolonged his meditative
+walk; he went into Kensington Gardens, he sat upon the penny chairs,
+he looked at the little sail-boats launched upon the round pond and
+was glad he had no engagement to dine.&nbsp; He repaired for this purpose,
+very late, to his club, where he found himself unable to order a repast
+and told the waiter to bring whatever there was.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t
+even observe what he was served with, and he spent the evening in the
+library of the establishment, pretending to read an article in an American
+magazine.&nbsp; He failed to discover what it was about; it appeared
+in a dim way to be about Marian Fancourt.</p>
+<p>Quite late in the week she wrote to him that she was not to go into
+the country&mdash;it had only just been settled.&nbsp; Her father, she
+added, would never settle anything, but put it all on her.&nbsp; She
+felt her responsibility&mdash;she had to&mdash;and since she was forced
+this was the way she had decided.&nbsp; She mentioned no reasons, which
+gave our friend all the clearer field for bold conjecture about them.&nbsp;
+In Manchester Square on this second Sunday he esteemed his fortune less
+good, for she had three or four other visitors.&nbsp; But there were
+three or four compensations; perhaps the greatest of which was that,
+learning how her father had after all, at the last hour, gone out of
+town alone, the bold conjecture I just now spoke of found itself becoming
+a shade more bold.&nbsp; And then her presence was her presence, and
+the personal red room was there and was full of it, whatever phantoms
+passed and vanished, emitting incomprehensible sounds.&nbsp; Lastly,
+he had the resource of staying till every one had come and gone and
+of believing this grateful to her, though she gave no particular sign.&nbsp;
+When they were alone together he came to his point.&nbsp; &ldquo;But
+St. George did come&mdash;last Sunday.&nbsp; I saw him as I looked back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; but it was the last time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The last time?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He said he would never come again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul Overt stared.&nbsp; &ldquo;Does he mean he wishes to cease to
+see you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what he means,&rdquo; the girl bravely
+smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;He won&rsquo;t at any rate see me here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And pray why not?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t the least idea,&rdquo; said Marian Fancourt,
+whose visitor found her more perversely sublime than ever yet as she
+professed this clear helplessness.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I say, I want you to stop a little,&rdquo; Henry St. George
+said to him at eleven o&rsquo;clock the night he dined with the head
+of the profession.&nbsp; The company&mdash;none of it indeed <i>of</i>
+the profession&mdash;had been numerous and was taking its leave; our
+young man, after bidding good-night to his hostess, had put out his
+hand in farewell to the master of the house.&nbsp; Besides drawing from
+the latter the protest I have cited this movement provoked a further
+priceless word about their chance now to have a talk, their going into
+his room, his having still everything to say.&nbsp; Paul Overt was all
+delight at this kindness; nevertheless he mentioned in weak jocose qualification
+the bare fact that he had promised to go to another place which was
+at a considerable distance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well then you&rsquo;ll break your promise, that&rsquo;s all.&nbsp;
+You quite awful humbug!&rdquo; St. George added in a tone that confirmed
+our young man&rsquo;s ease.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly I&rsquo;ll break it&mdash;but it was a real promise.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean to Miss Fancourt?&nbsp; You&rsquo;re following
+her?&rdquo; his friend asked.</p>
+<p>He answered by a question.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh is <i>she</i> going?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Base impostor!&rdquo; his ironic host went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+treated you handsomely on the article of that young lady: I won&rsquo;t
+make another concession.&nbsp; Wait three minutes&mdash;I&rsquo;ll be
+with you.&rdquo;&nbsp; He gave himself to his departing guests, accompanied
+the long-trained ladies to the door.&nbsp; It was a hot night, the windows
+were open, the sound of the quick carriages and of the linkmen&rsquo;s
+call came into the house.&nbsp; The affair had rather glittered; a sense
+of festal things was in the heavy air: not only the influence of that
+particular entertainment, but the suggestion of the wide hurry of pleasure
+which in London on summer nights fills so many of the happier quarters
+of the complicated town.&nbsp; Gradually Mrs. St. George&rsquo;s drawing-room
+emptied itself; Paul was left alone with his hostess, to whom he explained
+the motive of his waiting.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah yes, some intellectual, some
+<i>professional</i>, talk,&rdquo; she leered; &ldquo;at this season
+doesn&rsquo;t one miss it?&nbsp; Poor dear Henry, I&rsquo;m so glad!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+The young man looked out of the window a moment, at the called hansoms
+that lurched up, at the smooth broughams that rolled away.&nbsp; When
+he turned round Mrs. St. George had disappeared; her husband&rsquo;s
+voice rose to him from below&mdash;he was laughing and talking, in the
+portico, with some lady who awaited her carriage.&nbsp; Paul had solitary
+possession, for some minutes, of the warm deserted rooms where the covered
+tinted lamplight was soft, the seats had been pushed about and the odour
+of flowers lingered.&nbsp; They were large, they were pretty, they contained
+objects of value; everything in the picture told of a &ldquo;good house.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+At the end of five minutes a servant came in with a request from the
+Master that he would join him downstairs; upon which, descending, he
+followed his conductor through a long passage to an apartment thrown
+out, in the rear of the habitation, for the special requirements, as
+he guessed, of a busy man of letters.</p>
+<p>St. George was in his shirt-sleeves in the middle of a large high
+room&mdash;a room without windows, but with a wide skylight at the top,
+that of a place of exhibition.&nbsp; It was furnished as a library,
+and the serried bookshelves rose to the ceiling, a surface of incomparable
+tone produced by dimly-gilt &ldquo;backs&rdquo; interrupted here and
+there by the suspension of old prints and drawings.&nbsp; At the end
+furthest from the door of admission was a tall desk, of great extent,
+at which the person using it could write only in the erect posture of
+a clerk in a counting-house; and stretched from the entrance to this
+structure was a wide plain band of crimson cloth, as straight as a garden-path
+and almost as long, where, in his mind&rsquo;s eye, Paul at once beheld
+the Master pace to and fro during vexed hours&mdash;hours, that is,
+of admirable composition.&nbsp; The servant gave him a coat, an old
+jacket with a hang of experience, from a cupboard in the wall, retiring
+afterwards with the garment he had taken off.&nbsp; Paul Overt welcomed
+the coat; it was a coat for talk, it promised confidences&mdash;having
+visibly received so many&mdash;and had tragic literary elbows.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Ah we&rsquo;re practical&mdash;we&rsquo;re practical!&rdquo;
+St. George said as he saw his visitor look the place over.&nbsp; &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t
+it a good big cage for going round and round?&nbsp; My wife invented
+it and she locks me up here every morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our young man breathed&mdash;by way of tribute&mdash;with a certain
+oppression.&nbsp; &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t miss a window&mdash;a place
+to look out?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I did at first awfully; but her calculation was just.&nbsp;
+It saves time, it has saved me many months in these ten years.&nbsp;
+Here I stand, under the eye of day&mdash;in London of course, very often,
+it&rsquo;s rather a bleared old eye&mdash;walled in to my trade.&nbsp;
+I can&rsquo;t get away&mdash;so the room&rsquo;s a fine lesson in concentration.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve learnt the lesson, I think; look at that big bundle of proof
+and acknowledge it.&rdquo;&nbsp; He pointed to a fat roll of papers,
+on one of the tables, which had not been undone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are you bringing out another&mdash;?&rdquo; Paul asked in
+a tone the fond deficiencies of which he didn&rsquo;t recognise till
+his companion burst out laughing, and indeed scarce even then.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You humbug, you humbug!&rdquo;&mdash;St. George appeared to
+enjoy caressing him, as it were, with that opprobrium.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+I know what you think of them?&rdquo; he asked, standing there with
+his hands in his pockets and with a new kind of smile.&nbsp; It was
+as if he were going to let his young votary see him all now.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Upon my word in that case you know more than I do!&rdquo;
+the latter ventured to respond, revealing a part of the torment of being
+able neither clearly to esteem nor distinctly to renounce him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow,&rdquo; said the more and more interesting
+Master, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t imagine I talk about my books specifically;
+they&rsquo;re not a decent subject&mdash;il ne manquerait plus que &ccedil;a!&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m not so bad as you may apprehend!&nbsp; About myself, yes,
+a little, if you like; though it wasn&rsquo;t for that I brought you
+down here.&nbsp; I want to ask you something&mdash;very much indeed;
+I value this chance.&nbsp; Therefore sit down.&nbsp; We&rsquo;re practical,
+but there <i>is</i> a sofa, you see&mdash;for she does humour my poor
+bones so far.&nbsp; Like all really great administrators and disciplinarians
+she knows when wisely to relax.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul sank into the corner
+of a deep leathern couch, but his friend remained standing and explanatory.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t mind, in this room, this is my habit.&nbsp;
+From the door to the desk and from the desk to the door.&nbsp; That
+shakes up my imagination gently; and don&rsquo;t you see what a good
+thing it is that there&rsquo;s no window for her to fly out of?&nbsp;
+The eternal standing as I write (I stop at that bureau and put it down,
+when anything comes, and so we go on) was rather wearisome at first,
+but we adopted it with an eye to the long run; you&rsquo;re in better
+order&mdash;if your legs don&rsquo;t break down!&mdash;and you can keep
+it up for more years.&nbsp; Oh we&rsquo;re practical&mdash;we&rsquo;re
+practical!&rdquo; St. George repeated, going to the table and taking
+up all mechanically the bundle of proofs.&nbsp; But, pulling off the
+wrapper, he had a change of attention that appealed afresh to our hero.&nbsp;
+He lost himself a moment, examining the sheets of his new book, while
+the younger man&rsquo;s eyes wandered over the room again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lord, what good things I should do if I had such a charming
+place as this to do them in!&rdquo; Paul reflected.&nbsp; The outer
+world, the world of accident and ugliness, was so successfully excluded,
+and within the rich protecting square, beneath the patronising sky,
+the dream-figures, the summoned company, could hold their particular
+revel.&nbsp; It was a fond prevision of Overt&rsquo;s rather than an
+observation on actual data, for which occasions had been too few, that
+the Master thus more closely viewed would have the quality, the charming
+gift, of flashing out, all surprisingly, in personal intercourse and
+at moments of suspended or perhaps even of diminished expectation.&nbsp;
+A happy relation with him would be a thing proceeding by jumps, not
+by traceable stages.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you read them&mdash;really?&rdquo; he asked, laying down
+the proofs on Paul&rsquo;s enquiring of him how soon the work would
+be published.&nbsp; And when the young man answered &ldquo;Oh yes, always,&rdquo;
+he was moved to mirth again by something he caught in his manner of
+saying that.&nbsp; &ldquo;You go to see your grandmother on her birthday&mdash;and
+very proper it is, especially as she won&rsquo;t last for ever.&nbsp;
+She has lost every faculty and every sense; she neither sees, nor hears,
+nor speaks; but all customary pieties and kindly habits are respectable.&nbsp;
+Only you&rsquo;re strong if you <i>do</i> read &rsquo;em!&nbsp; <i>I</i>
+couldn&rsquo;t, my dear fellow.&nbsp; You are strong, I know; and that&rsquo;s
+just a part of what I wanted to say to you.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re very
+strong indeed.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve been going into your other things&mdash;they&rsquo;ve
+interested me immensely.&nbsp; Some one ought to have told me about
+them before&mdash;some one I could believe.&nbsp; But whom can one believe?&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;re wonderfully on the right road&mdash;it&rsquo;s awfully
+decent work.&nbsp; Now do you mean to keep it up?&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+what I want to ask you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do I mean to do others?&rdquo; Paul asked, looking up from
+his sofa at his erect inquisitor and feeling partly like a happy little
+boy when the school-master is gay, and partly like some pilgrim of old
+who might have consulted a world-famous oracle.&nbsp; St. George&rsquo;s
+own performance had been infirm, but as an adviser he would be infallible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Others&mdash;others?&nbsp; Ah the number won&rsquo;t matter;
+one other would do, if it were really a further step&mdash;a throb of
+the same effort.&nbsp; What I mean is have you it in your heart to go
+in for some sort of decent perfection?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah decency, ah perfection&mdash;!&rdquo; the young man sincerely
+sighed.&nbsp; &ldquo;I talked of them the other Sunday with Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It produced on the Master&rsquo;s part a laugh of odd acrimony.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Yes, they&rsquo;ll &lsquo;talk&rsquo; of them as much as you
+like!&nbsp; But they&rsquo;ll do little to help one to them.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+no obligation of course; only you strike me as capable,&rdquo; he went
+on.&nbsp; &ldquo;You must have thought it all over.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t
+believe you&rsquo;re without a plan.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s the sensation
+you give me, and it&rsquo;s so rare that it really stirs one up&mdash;it
+makes you remarkable.&nbsp; If you haven&rsquo;t a plan, if you <i>don&rsquo;t</i>
+mean to keep it up, surely you&rsquo;re within your rights; it&rsquo;s
+nobody&rsquo;s business, no one can force you, and not more than two
+or three people will notice you don&rsquo;t go straight.&nbsp; The others&mdash;<i>all</i>
+the rest, every blest soul in England, will think you do&mdash;will
+think you are keeping it up: upon my honour they will!&nbsp; I shall
+be one of the two or three who know better.&nbsp; Now the question is
+whether you can do it for two or three.&nbsp; Is that the stuff you&rsquo;re
+made of?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It locked his guest a minute as in closed throbbing arms.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+could do it for one, if you were the one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say that; I don&rsquo;t deserve it; it scorches
+me,&rdquo; he protested with eyes suddenly grave and glowing.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;The &lsquo;one&rsquo; is of course one&rsquo;s self, one&rsquo;s
+conscience, one&rsquo;s idea, the singleness of one&rsquo;s aim.&nbsp;
+I think of that pure spirit as a man thinks of a woman he has in some
+detested hour of his youth loved and forsaken.&nbsp; She haunts him
+with reproachful eyes, she lives for ever before him.&nbsp; As an artist,
+you know, I&rsquo;ve married for money.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul stared and
+even blushed a little, confounded by this avowal; whereupon his host,
+observing the expression of his face, dropped a quick laugh and pursued:
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t follow my figure.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not speaking
+of my dear wife, who had a small fortune&mdash;which, however, was not
+my bribe.&nbsp; I fell in love with her, as many other people have done.&nbsp;
+I refer to the mercenary muse whom I led to the altar of literature.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t, my boy, put your nose into <i>that</i> yoke.&nbsp; The
+awful jade will lead you a life!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our hero watched him, wondering and deeply touched.&nbsp; &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t
+you been happy!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Happy?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a kind of hell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are things I should like to ask you,&rdquo; Paul said
+after a pause.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ask me anything in all the world.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d turn myself
+inside out to save you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To &lsquo;save&rsquo; me?&rdquo; he quavered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To make you stick to it&mdash;to make you see it through.&nbsp;
+As I said to you the other night at Summersoft, let my example be vivid
+to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why your books are not so bad as that,&rdquo; said Paul, fairly
+laughing and feeling that if ever a fellow had breathed the air of art&mdash;!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So bad as what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your talent&rsquo;s so great that it&rsquo;s in everything
+you do, in what&rsquo;s less good as well as in what&rsquo;s best.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;ve some forty volumes to show for it&mdash;forty volumes of
+wonderful life, of rare observation, of magnificent ability.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very clever, of course I know that&rdquo;&mdash;but
+it was a thing, in fine, this author made nothing of.&nbsp; &ldquo;Lord,
+what rot they&rsquo;d all be if I hadn&rsquo;t been I&rsquo;m a successful
+charlatan,&rdquo; he went on&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been able to pass
+off my system.&nbsp; But do you know what it is?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s cartonpierre.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Carton-pierre?&rdquo; Paul was struck, and gaped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lincrusta-Walton!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah don&rsquo;t say such things&mdash;you make me bleed!&rdquo;
+the younger man protested.&nbsp; &ldquo;I see you in a beautiful fortunate
+home, living in comfort and honour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you call it honour?&rdquo;&mdash;his host took him up with
+an intonation that often comes back to him.&nbsp; &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+what I want <i>you</i> to go in for.&nbsp; I mean the real thing.&nbsp;
+This is brummagem.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Brummagem?&rdquo; Paul ejaculated while his eyes wandered,
+by a movement natural at the moment, over the luxurious room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah they make it so well to-day&mdash;it&rsquo;s wonderfully
+deceptive!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our friend thrilled with the interest and perhaps even more with
+the pity of it.&nbsp; Yet he wasn&rsquo;t afraid to seem to patronise
+when he could still so far envy.&nbsp; &ldquo;Is it deceptive that I
+find you living with every appearance of domestic felicity&mdash;blest
+with a devoted, accomplished wife, with children whose acquaintance
+I haven&rsquo;t yet had the pleasure of making, but who <i>must</i>
+be delightful young people, from what I know of their parents?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George smiled as for the candour of his question.&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+all excellent, my dear fellow&mdash;heaven forbid I should deny it.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve made a great deal of money; my wife has known how to take
+care of it, to use it without wasting it, to put a good bit of it by,
+to make it fructify.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got a loaf on the shelf; I&rsquo;ve
+got everything in fact but the great thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The great thing?&rdquo; Paul kept echoing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The sense of having done the best&mdash;the sense which is
+the real life of the artist and the absence of which is his death, of
+having drawn from his intellectual instrument the finest music that
+nature had hidden in it, of having played it as it should be played.&nbsp;
+He either does that or he doesn&rsquo;t&mdash;and if he doesn&rsquo;t
+he isn&rsquo;t worth speaking of.&nbsp; Therefore, precisely, those
+who really know <i>don&rsquo;t</i> speak of him.&nbsp; He may still
+hear a great chatter, but what he hears most is the incorruptible silence
+of Fame.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve squared her, you may say, for my little hour&mdash;but
+what&rsquo;s my little hour?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t imagine for a moment,&rdquo;
+the Master pursued, &ldquo;that I&rsquo;m such a cad as to have brought
+you down here to abuse or to complain of my wife to you.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s
+a woman of distinguished qualities, to whom my obligations are immense;
+so that, if you please, we&rsquo;ll say nothing about her.&nbsp; My
+boys&mdash;my children are all boys&mdash;are straight and strong, thank
+God, and have no poverty of growth about them, no penury of needs.&nbsp;
+I receive periodically the most satisfactory attestation from Harrow,
+from Oxford, from Sandhurst&mdash;oh we&rsquo;ve done the best for them!&mdash;of
+their eminence as living thriving consuming organisms.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It must be delightful to feel that the son of one&rsquo;s
+loins is at Sandhurst,&rdquo; Paul remarked enthusiastically.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is&mdash;it&rsquo;s charming.&nbsp; Oh I&rsquo;m a patriot!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man then could but have the greater tribute of questions
+to pay.&nbsp; &ldquo;Then what did you mean&mdash;the other night at
+Summersoft&mdash;by saying that children are a curse?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear youth, on what basis are we talking?&rdquo; and St.
+George dropped upon the sofa at a short distance from him.&nbsp; Sitting
+a little sideways he leaned back against the opposite arm with his hands
+raised and interlocked behind his head.&nbsp; &ldquo;On the supposition
+that a certain perfection&rsquo;s possible and even desirable&mdash;isn&rsquo;t
+it so?&nbsp; Well, all I say is that one&rsquo;s children interfere
+with perfection.&nbsp; One&rsquo;s wife interferes.&nbsp; Marriage interferes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You think then the artist shouldn&rsquo;t marry?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He does so at his peril&mdash;he does so at his cost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not even when his wife&rsquo;s in sympathy with his work?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She never is&mdash;she can&rsquo;t be!&nbsp; Women haven&rsquo;t
+a conception of such things.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely they on occasion work themselves,&rdquo; Paul objected.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, very badly indeed.&nbsp; Oh of course, often, they think
+they understand, they think they sympathise.&nbsp; Then it is they&rsquo;re
+most dangerous.&nbsp; Their idea is that you shall do a great lot and
+get a great lot of money.&nbsp; Their great nobleness and virtue, their
+exemplary conscientiousness as British females, is in keeping you up
+to that.&nbsp; My wife makes all my bargains with my publishers for
+me, and has done so for twenty years.&nbsp; She does it consummately
+well&mdash;that&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;m really pretty well off.&nbsp;
+Aren&rsquo;t you the father of their innocent babes, and will you withhold
+from them their natural sustenance?&nbsp; You asked me the other night
+if they&rsquo;re not an immense incentive.&nbsp; Of course they are&mdash;there&rsquo;s
+no doubt of that!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul turned it over: it took, from eyes he had never felt open so
+wide, so much looking at.&nbsp; &ldquo;For myself I&rsquo;ve an idea
+I need incentives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah well then, n&rsquo;en parlons plus!&rdquo; his companion
+handsomely smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;<i>You</i> are an incentive, I maintain,&rdquo; the young
+man went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t affect me in the way you&rsquo;d
+apparently like to.&nbsp; Your great success is what I see&mdash;the
+pomp of Ennismore Gardens!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Success?&rdquo;&mdash;St. George&rsquo;s eyes had a cold fine
+light.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you call it success to be spoken of as you&rsquo;d
+speak of me if you were sitting here with another artist&mdash;a young
+man intelligent and sincere like yourself?&nbsp; Do you call it success
+to make you blush&mdash;as you would blush!&mdash;if some foreign critic
+(some fellow, of course I mean, who should know what he was talking
+about and should have shown you he did, as foreign critics like to show
+it) were to say to you: &lsquo;He&rsquo;s the one, in this country,
+whom they consider the most perfect, isn&rsquo;t he?&rsquo;&nbsp; Is
+it success to be the occasion of a young Englishman&rsquo;s having to
+stammer as you would have to stammer at such a moment for old England?&nbsp;
+No, no; success is to have made people wriggle to another tune.&nbsp;
+Do try it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul continued all gravely to glow.&nbsp; &ldquo;Try what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Try to do some really good work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh I want to, heaven knows!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you can&rsquo;t do it without sacrifices&mdash;don&rsquo;t
+believe that for a moment,&rdquo; the Master said.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+made none.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve had everything.&nbsp; In other words I&rsquo;ve
+missed everything.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve had the full rich masculine human general life,
+with all the responsibilities and duties and burdens and sorrows and
+joys&mdash;all the domestic and social initiations and complications.&nbsp;
+They must be immensely suggestive, immensely amusing,&rdquo; Paul anxiously
+submitted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Amusing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For a strong man&mdash;yes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve given me subjects without number, if that&rsquo;s
+what you mean; but they&rsquo;ve taken away at the same time the power
+to use them.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve touched a thousand things, but which one
+of them have I turned into gold?&nbsp; The artist has to do only with
+that&mdash;he knows nothing of any baser metal.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve led
+the life of the world, with my wife and my progeny; the clumsy conventional
+expensive materialised vulgarised brutalised life of London.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve
+got everything handsome, even a carriage&mdash;we&rsquo;re perfect Philistines
+and prosperous hospitable eminent people.&nbsp; But, my dear fellow,
+don&rsquo;t try to stultify yourself and pretend you don&rsquo;t know
+what we <i>haven&rsquo;t</i> got.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s bigger than all the
+rest.&nbsp; Between artists&mdash;come!&rdquo; the Master wound up.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You know as well as you sit there that you&rsquo;d put a pistol-ball
+into your brain if you had written my books!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It struck his listener that the tremendous talk promised by him at
+Summersoft had indeed come off, and with a promptitude, a fulness, with
+which the latter&rsquo;s young imagination had scarcely reckoned.&nbsp;
+His impression fairly shook him and he throbbed with the excitement
+of such deep soundings and such strange confidences.&nbsp; He throbbed
+indeed with the conflict of his feelings&mdash;bewilderment and recognition
+and alarm, enjoyment and protest and assent, all commingled with tenderness
+(and a kind of shame in the participation) for the sores and bruises
+exhibited by so fine a creature, and with a sense of the tragic secret
+nursed under his trappings.&nbsp; The idea of <i>his</i>, Paul Overt&rsquo;s,
+becoming the occasion of such an act of humility made him flush and
+pant, at the same time that his consciousness was in certain directions
+too much alive not to swallow&mdash;and not intensely to taste&mdash;every
+offered spoonful of the revelation.&nbsp; It had been his odd fortune
+to blow upon the deep waters, to make them surge and break in waves
+of strange eloquence.&nbsp; But how couldn&rsquo;t he give out a passionate
+contradiction of his host&rsquo;s last extravagance, how couldn&rsquo;t
+he enumerate to him the parts of his work he loved, the splendid things
+he had found in it, beyond the compass of any other writer of the day?&nbsp;
+St. George listened a while, courteously; then he said, laying his hand
+on his visitor&rsquo;s: &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all very well; and if your
+idea&rsquo;s to do nothing better there&rsquo;s no reason you shouldn&rsquo;t
+have as many good things as I&mdash;as many human and material appendages,
+as many sons or daughters, a wife with as many gowns, a house with as
+many servants, a stable with as many horses, a heart with as many aches.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+The Master got up when he had spoken thus&mdash;he stood a moment&mdash;near
+the sofa looking down on his agitated pupil.&nbsp; &ldquo;Are you possessed
+of any property?&rdquo; it occurred to him to ask.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None to speak of.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh well then there&rsquo;s no reason why you shouldn&rsquo;t
+make a goodish income&mdash;if you set about it the right way.&nbsp;
+Study <i>me</i> for that&mdash;study me well.&nbsp; You may really have
+horses.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul sat there some minutes without speaking.&nbsp; He looked straight
+before him&mdash;he turned over many things.&nbsp; His friend had wandered
+away, taking up a parcel of letters from the table where the roll of
+proofs had lain.&nbsp; &ldquo;What was the book Mrs. St. George made
+you burn&mdash;the one she didn&rsquo;t like?&rdquo; our young man brought
+out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The book she made me burn&mdash;how did you know that?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+The Master looked up from his letters quite without the facial convulsion
+the pupil had feared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I heard her speak of it at Summersoft.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes&mdash;she&rsquo;s proud of it.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+know&mdash;it was rather good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What was it about?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let me see.&rdquo;&nbsp; And he seemed to make an effort to
+remember.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh yes&mdash;it was about myself.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Paul gave an irrepressible groan for the disappearance of such a production,
+and the elder man went on: &ldquo;Oh but <i>you</i> should write it&mdash;<i>you</i>
+should do me.&rdquo;&nbsp; And he pulled up&mdash;from the restless
+motion that had come upon him; his fine smile a generous glare.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a subject, my boy: no end of stuff in it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Again Paul was silent, but it was all tormenting.&nbsp; &ldquo;Are
+there no women who really understand&mdash;who can take part in a sacrifice?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How can they take part?&nbsp; They themselves are the sacrifice.&nbsp;
+They&rsquo;re the idol and the altar and the flame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there even <i>one</i> who sees further?&rdquo;
+Paul continued.</p>
+<p>For a moment St. George made no answer; after which, having torn
+up his letters, he came back to the point all ironic.&nbsp; &ldquo;Of
+course I know the one you mean.&nbsp; But not even Miss Fancourt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thought you admired her so much.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s impossible to admire her more.&nbsp; Are you in
+love with her?&rdquo; St. George asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Paul Overt presently said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well then give it up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul stared.&nbsp; &ldquo;Give up my &lsquo;love&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bless me, no.&nbsp; Your idea.&rdquo;&nbsp; And then as our
+hero but still gazed: &ldquo;The one you talked with her about.&nbsp;
+The idea of a decent perfection.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;d help it&mdash;she&rsquo;d help it!&rdquo; the
+young man cried.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For about a year&mdash;the first year, yes.&nbsp; After that
+she&rsquo;d be as a millstone round its neck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul frankly wondered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why she has a passion for the
+real thing, for good work&mdash;for everything you and I care for most.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;You and I&rsquo; is charming, my dear fellow!&rdquo;
+his friend laughed.&nbsp; &ldquo;She has it indeed, but she&rsquo;d
+have a still greater passion for her children&mdash;and very proper
+too.&nbsp; She&rsquo;d insist on everything&rsquo;s being made comfortable,
+advantageous, propitious for them.&nbsp; That isn&rsquo;t the artist&rsquo;s
+business.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The artist&mdash;the artist!&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t he a man all
+the same?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George had a grand grimace.&nbsp; &ldquo;I mostly think not.&nbsp;
+You know as well as I what he has to do: the concentration, the finish,
+the independence he must strive for from the moment he begins to wish
+his work really decent.&nbsp; Ah my young friend, his relation to women,
+and especially to the one he&rsquo;s most intimately concerned with,
+is at the mercy of the damning fact that whereas he can in the nature
+of things have but one standard, they have about fifty.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+what makes them so superior,&rdquo; St. George amusingly added.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Fancy an artist with a change of standards as you&rsquo;d have
+a change of shirts or of dinner-plates.&nbsp; To <i>do</i> it&mdash;to
+do it and make it divine&mdash;is the only thing he has to think about.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Is it done or not?&rsquo; is his only question.&nbsp; Not &lsquo;Is
+it done as well as a proper solicitude for my dear little family will
+allow?&rsquo;&nbsp; He has nothing to do with the relative&mdash;he
+has only to do with the absolute; and a dear little family may represent
+a dozen relatives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then you don&rsquo;t allow him the common passions and affections
+of men?&rdquo; Paul asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t he a passion, an affection, which includes all
+the rest?&nbsp; Besides, let him have all the passions he likes&mdash;if
+he only keeps his independence.&nbsp; He must be able to be poor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul slowly got up.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why then did you advise me to make
+up to her?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>St. George laid his hand on his shoulder.&nbsp; &ldquo;Because she&rsquo;d
+make a splendid wife!&nbsp; And I hadn&rsquo;t read you then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The young man had a strained smile.&nbsp; &ldquo;I wish you had left
+me alone!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know that that wasn&rsquo;t good enough for
+you,&rdquo; his host returned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a false position, what a condemnation of the artist,
+that he&rsquo;s a mere disfranchised monk and can produce his effect
+only by giving up personal happiness.&nbsp; What an arraignment of art!&rdquo;
+Paul went on with a trembling voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you don&rsquo;t imagine by chance that I&rsquo;m defending
+art?&nbsp; &lsquo;Arraignment&rsquo;&mdash;I should think so!&nbsp;
+Happy the societies in which it hasn&rsquo;t made its appearance, for
+from the moment it comes they have a consuming ache, they have an incurable
+corruption, in their breast.&nbsp; Most assuredly is the artist in a
+false position!&nbsp; But I thought we were taking him for granted.&nbsp;
+Pardon me,&rdquo; St. George continued: &ldquo;&lsquo;Ginistrella&rsquo;
+made me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul stood looking at the floor&mdash;one o&rsquo;clock struck, in
+the stillness, from a neighbouring church-tower.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you
+think she&rsquo;d ever look at me?&rdquo; he put to his friend at last.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Miss Fancourt&mdash;as a suitor?&nbsp; Why shouldn&rsquo;t
+I think it?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s why I&rsquo;ve tried to favour you&mdash;I&rsquo;ve
+had a little chance or two of bettering your opportunity.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forgive my asking you, but do you mean by keeping away yourself?&rdquo;
+Paul said with a blush.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m an old idiot&mdash;my place isn&rsquo;t there,&rdquo;
+St. George stated gravely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m nothing yet, I&rsquo;ve no fortune; and there must
+be so many others,&rdquo; his companion pursued.</p>
+<p>The Master took this considerably in, but made little of it.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a gentleman and a man of genius.&nbsp; I think you
+might do something.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But if I must give that up&mdash;the genius?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lots of people, you know, think I&rsquo;ve kept mine,&rdquo;
+St. George wonderfully grinned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve a genius for mystification!&rdquo; Paul declared;
+but grasping his hand gratefully in attenuation of this judgement.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor dear boy, I do worry you!&nbsp; But try, try, all the
+same.&nbsp; I think your chances are good and you&rsquo;ll win a great
+prize.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul held fast the other&rsquo;s hand a minute; he looked into the
+strange deep face.&nbsp; &ldquo;No, I <i>am</i> an artist&mdash;I can&rsquo;t
+help it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah show it then!&rdquo; St. George pleadingly broke out.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Let me see before I die the thing I most want, the thing I yearn
+for: a life in which the passion&mdash;ours&mdash;is really intense.&nbsp;
+If you can be rare don&rsquo;t fail of it!&nbsp; Think what it is&mdash;how
+it counts&mdash;how it lives!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They had moved to the door and he had closed both his hands over
+his companion&rsquo;s.&nbsp; Here they paused again and our hero breathed
+deep.&nbsp; &ldquo;I want to live!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In what sense?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the greatest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well then stick to it&mdash;see it through.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With your sympathy&mdash;your help?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Count on that&mdash;you&rsquo;ll be a great figure to me.&nbsp;
+Count on my highest appreciation, my devotion.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll give
+me satisfaction&mdash;if that has any weight with you.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+After which, as Paul appeared still to waver, his host added: &ldquo;Do
+you remember what you said to me at Summersoft?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something infatuated, no doubt!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll do anything in the world you tell me.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+You said that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you hold me to it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah what am I?&rdquo; the Master expressively sighed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lord, what things I shall have to do!&rdquo; Paul almost moaned
+as be departed.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;It goes on too much abroad&mdash;hang abroad!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+These or something like them had been the Master&rsquo;s remarkable
+words in relation to the action of &ldquo;Ginistrella&rdquo;; and yet,
+though they had made a sharp impression on the author of that work,
+like almost all spoken words from the same source, he a week after the
+conversation I have noted left England for a long absence and full of
+brave intentions.&nbsp; It is not a perversion of the truth to pronounce
+that encounter the direct cause of his departure.&nbsp; If the oral
+utterance of the eminent writer had the privilege of moving him deeply
+it was especially on his turning it over at leisure, hours and days
+later, that it appeared to yield him its full meaning and exhibit its
+extreme importance.&nbsp; He spent the summer in Switzerland and, having
+in September begun a new task, determined not to cross the Alps till
+he should have made a good start.&nbsp; To this end he returned to a
+quiet corner he knew well, on the edge of the Lake of Geneva and within
+sight of the towers of Chillon: a region and a view for which he had
+an affection that sprang from old associations and was capable of mysterious
+revivals and refreshments.&nbsp; Here he lingered late, till the snow
+was on the nearer hills, almost down to the limit to which he could
+climb when his stint, on the shortening afternoons, was performed.&nbsp;
+The autumn was fine, the lake was blue and his book took form and direction.&nbsp;
+These felicities, for the time, embroidered his life, which he suffered
+to cover him with its mantle.&nbsp; At the end of six weeks he felt
+he had learnt St. George&rsquo;s lesson by heart, had tested and proved
+its doctrine.&nbsp; Nevertheless he did a very inconsistent thing: before
+crossing the Alps he wrote to Marian Fancourt.&nbsp; He was aware of
+the perversity of this act, and it was only as a luxury, an amusement,
+the reward of a strenuous autumn, that he justified it.&nbsp; She had
+asked of him no such favour when, shortly before he left London, three
+days after their dinner in Ennismore Gardens, he went to take leave
+of her.&nbsp; It was true she had had no ground&mdash;he hadn&rsquo;t
+named his intention of absence.&nbsp; He had kept his counsel for want
+of due assurance: it was that particular visit that was, the next thing,
+to settle the matter.&nbsp; He had paid the visit to see how much he
+really cared for her, and quick departure, without so much as an explicit
+farewell, was the sequel to this enquiry, the answer to which had created
+within him a deep yearning.&nbsp; When he wrote her from Clarens he
+noted that he owed her an explanation (more than three months after!)
+for not having told her what he was doing.</p>
+<p>She replied now briefly but promptly, and gave him a striking piece
+of news: that of the death, a week before, of Mrs. St. George.&nbsp;
+This exemplary woman had succumbed, in the country, to a violent attack
+of inflammation of the lungs&mdash;he would remember that for a long
+time she had been delicate.&nbsp; Miss Fancourt added that she believed
+her husband overwhelmed by the blow; he would miss her too terribly&mdash;she
+had been everything in life to him.&nbsp; Paul Overt, on this, immediately
+wrote to St. George.&nbsp; He would from the day of their parting have
+been glad to remain in communication with him, but had hitherto lacked
+the right excuse for troubling so busy a man.&nbsp; Their long nocturnal
+talk came back to him in every detail, but this was no bar to an expression
+of proper sympathy with the head of the profession, for hadn&rsquo;t
+that very talk made it clear that the late accomplished lady was the
+influence that ruled his life?&nbsp; What catastrophe could be more
+cruel than the extinction of such an influence?&nbsp; This was to be
+exactly the tone taken by St. George in answering his young friend upwards
+of a month later.&nbsp; He made no allusion of course to their important
+discussion.&nbsp; He spoke of his wife as frankly and generously as
+if he had quite forgotten that occasion, and the feeling of deep bereavement
+was visible in his words.&nbsp; &ldquo;She took everything off my hands&mdash;off
+my mind.&nbsp; She carried on our life with the greatest art, the rarest
+devotion, and I was free, as few men can have been, to drive my pen,
+to shut myself up with my trade.&nbsp; This was a rare service&mdash;the
+highest she could have rendered me.&nbsp; Would I could have acknowledged
+it more fitly!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A certain bewilderment, for our hero, disengaged itself from these
+remarks: they struck him as a contradiction, a retractation, strange
+on the part of a man who hadn&rsquo;t the excuse of witlessness.&nbsp;
+He had certainly not expected his correspondent to rejoice in the death
+of his wife, and it was perfectly in order that the rupture of a tie
+of more than twenty years should have left him sore.&nbsp; But if she
+had been so clear a blessing what in the name of consistency had the
+dear man meant by turning him upside down that night&mdash;by dosing
+him to that degree, at the most sensitive hour of his life, with the
+doctrine of renunciation?&nbsp; If Mrs. St. George was an irreparable
+loss, then her husband&rsquo;s inspired advice had been a bad joke and
+renunciation was a mistake.&nbsp; Overt was on the point of rushing
+back to London to show that, for his part, he was perfectly willing
+to consider it so, and he went so far as to take the manuscript of the
+first chapters of his new book out of his table-drawer, to insert it
+into a pocket of his portmanteau.&nbsp; This led to his catching a glimpse
+of certain pages he hadn&rsquo;t looked at for months, and that accident,
+in turn, to his being struck with the high promise they revealed&mdash;a
+rare result of such retrospections, which it was his habit to avoid
+as much as possible: they usually brought home to him that the glow
+of composition might be a purely subjective and misleading emotion.&nbsp;
+On this occasion a certain belief in himself disengaged itself whimsically
+from the serried erasures of his first draft, making him think it best
+after all to pursue his present trial to the end.&nbsp; If he could
+write as well under the rigour of privation it might be a mistake to
+change the conditions before that spell had spent itself.&nbsp; He would
+go back to London of course, but he would go back only when he should
+have finished his book.&nbsp; This was the vow he privately made, restoring
+his manuscript to the table-drawer.&nbsp; It may be added that it took
+him a long time to finish his book, for the subject was as difficult
+as it was fine, and he was literally embarrassed by the fulness of his
+notes.&nbsp; Something within him warned him that he must make it supremely
+good&mdash;otherwise he should lack, as regards his private behaviour,
+a handsome excuse.&nbsp; He had a horror of this deficiency and found
+himself as firm as need be on the question of the lamp and the file.&nbsp;
+He crossed the Alps at last and spent the winter, the spring, the ensuing
+summer, in Italy, where still, at the end of a twelvemonth, his task
+was unachieved.&nbsp; &ldquo;Stick to it&mdash;see it through&rdquo;:
+this general injunction of St. George&rsquo;s was good also for the
+particular case.&nbsp; He applied it to the utmost, with the result
+that when in its slow order the summer had come round again he felt
+he had given all that was in him.&nbsp; This time he put his papers
+into his portmanteau, with the address of his publisher attached, and
+took his way northward.</p>
+<p>He had been absent from London for two years&mdash;two years which,
+seeming to count as more, had made such a difference in his own life&mdash;through
+the production of a novel far stronger, he believed, than &ldquo;Ginistrella&rdquo;&mdash;that
+he turned out into Piccadilly, the morning after his arrival, with a
+vague expectation of changes, of finding great things had happened.&nbsp;
+But there were few transformations in Piccadilly&mdash;only three or
+four big red houses where there had been low black ones&mdash;and the
+brightness of the end of June peeped through the rusty railings of the
+Green Park and glittered in the varnish of the rolling carriages as
+he had seen it in other, more cursory Junes.&nbsp; It was a greeting
+he appreciated; it seemed friendly and pointed, added to the exhilaration
+of his finished book, of his having his own country and the huge oppressive
+amusing city that suggested everything, that contained everything, under
+his hand again.&nbsp; &ldquo;Stay at home and do things here&mdash;do
+subjects we can measure,&rdquo; St. George had said; and now it struck
+him he should ask nothing better than to stay at home for ever.&nbsp;
+Late in the afternoon he took his way to Manchester Square, looking
+out for a number he hadn&rsquo;t forgotten.&nbsp; Miss Fancourt, however,
+was not at home, so that he turned rather dejectedly from the door.&nbsp;
+His movement brought him face to face with a gentleman just approaching
+it and recognised on another glance as Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s father.&nbsp;
+Paul saluted this personage, and the General returned the greeting with
+his customary good manner&mdash;a manner so good, however, that you
+could never tell whether it meant he placed you.&nbsp; The disappointed
+caller felt the impulse to address him; then, hesitating, became both
+aware of having no particular remark to make, and convinced that though
+the old soldier remembered him he remembered him wrong.&nbsp; He therefore
+went his way without computing the irresistible effect his own evident
+recognition would have on the General, who never neglected a chance
+to gossip.&nbsp; Our young man&rsquo;s face was expressive, and observation
+seldom let it pass.&nbsp; He hadn&rsquo;t taken ten steps before he
+heard himself called after with a friendly semi-articulate &ldquo;Er&mdash;I
+beg your pardon!&rdquo;&nbsp; He turned round and the General, smiling
+at him from the porch, said: &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you come in?&nbsp; I
+won&rsquo;t leave you the advantage of me!&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul declined
+to come in, and then felt regret, for Miss Fancourt, so late in the
+afternoon, might return at any moment.&nbsp; But her father gave him
+no second chance; he appeared mainly to wish not to have struck him
+as ungracious.&nbsp; A further look at the visitor had recalled something,
+enough at least to enable him to say: &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve come back,
+you&rsquo;ve come back?&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul was on the point of replying
+that he had come back the night before, but he suppressed, the next
+instant, this strong light on the immediacy of his visit and, giving
+merely a general assent, alluded to the young lady he deplored not having
+found.&nbsp; He had come late in the hope she would be in.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+tell her&mdash;I&rsquo;ll tell her,&rdquo; said the old man; and then
+he added quickly, gallantly: &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be giving us something
+new?&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a long time, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;&nbsp; Now
+he remembered him right.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rather long.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m very slow.&rdquo; Paul explained.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I met you at Summersoft a long time ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes&mdash;with Henry St. George.&nbsp; I remember very
+well.&nbsp; Before his poor wife&mdash;&rdquo; General Fancourt paused
+a moment, smiling a little less.&nbsp; &ldquo;I dare say you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;About Mrs. St. George&rsquo;s death?&nbsp; Certainly&mdash;I
+heard at the time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, I mean&mdash;I mean he&rsquo;s to be married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah I&rsquo;ve not heard that!&rdquo;&nbsp; But just as Paul
+was about to add &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo; the General crossed his intention.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When did you come back?&nbsp; I know you&rsquo;ve been away&mdash;by
+my daughter.&nbsp; She was very sorry.&nbsp; You ought to give her something
+new.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I came back last night,&rdquo; said our young man, to whom
+something had occurred which made his speech for the moment a little
+thick.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah most kind of you to come so soon.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t
+you turn up at dinner?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At dinner?&rdquo; Paul just mechanically repeated, not liking
+to ask whom St. George was going to marry, but thinking only of that.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are several people, I believe.&nbsp; Certainly St. George.&nbsp;
+Or afterwards if you like better.&nbsp; I believe my daughter expects&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp;
+He appeared to notice something in the visitor&rsquo;s raised face (on
+his steps he stood higher) which led him to interrupt himself, and the
+interruption gave him a momentary sense of awkwardness, from which he
+sought a quick issue.&nbsp; &ldquo;Perhaps then you haven&rsquo;t heard
+she&rsquo;s to be married.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul gaped again.&nbsp; &ldquo;To be married?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To Mr. St. George&mdash;it has just been settled.&nbsp; Odd
+marriage, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;&nbsp; Our listener uttered no opinion
+on this point: he only continued to stare.&nbsp; &ldquo;But I dare say
+it will do&mdash;she&rsquo;s so awfully literary!&rdquo; said the General.</p>
+<p>Paul had turned very red.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh it&rsquo;s a surprise&mdash;very
+interesting, very charming!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m afraid I can&rsquo;t dine&mdash;so
+many thanks!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you must come to the wedding!&rdquo; cried the General.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Oh I remember that day at Summersoft.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s a great
+man, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Charming&mdash;charming!&rdquo; Paul stammered for retreat.&nbsp;
+He shook hands with the General and got off.&nbsp; His face was red
+and he had the sense of its growing more and more crimson.&nbsp; All
+the evening at home&mdash;he went straight to his rooms and remained
+there dinnerless&mdash;his cheek burned at intervals as if it had been
+smitten.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t understand what had happened to him,
+what trick had been played him, what treachery practised.&nbsp; &ldquo;None,
+none,&rdquo; he said to himself.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve nothing to
+do with it.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m out of it&mdash;it&rsquo;s none of my business.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+But that bewildered murmur was followed again and again by the incongruous
+ejaculation: &ldquo;Was it a plan&mdash;was it a plan?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Sometimes he cried to himself, breathless, &ldquo;Have I been duped,
+sold, swindled?&rdquo;&nbsp; If at all, he was an absurd, an abject
+victim.&nbsp; It was as if he hadn&rsquo;t lost her till now.&nbsp;
+He had renounced her, yes; but that was another affair&mdash;that was
+a closed but not a locked door.&nbsp; Now he seemed to see the door
+quite slammed in his face.&nbsp; Did he expect her to wait&mdash;was
+she to give him his time like that: two years at a stretch?&nbsp; He
+didn&rsquo;t know what he had expected&mdash;he only knew what he hadn&rsquo;t.&nbsp;
+It wasn&rsquo;t this&mdash;it wasn&rsquo;t this.&nbsp; Mystification
+bitterness and wrath rose and boiled in him when he thought of the deference,
+the devotion, the credulity with which he had listened to St. George.&nbsp;
+The evening wore on and the light was long; but even when it had darkened
+he remained without a lamp.&nbsp; He had flung himself on the sofa,
+where he lay through the hours with his eyes either closed or gazing
+at the gloom, in the attitude of a man teaching himself to bear something,
+to bear having been made a fool of.&nbsp; He had made it too easy&mdash;that
+idea passed over him like a hot wave.&nbsp; Suddenly, as he heard eleven
+o&rsquo;clock strike, he jumped up, remembering what General Fancourt
+had said about his coming after dinner.&nbsp; He&rsquo;d go&mdash;he&rsquo;d
+see her at least; perhaps he should see what it meant.&nbsp; He felt
+as if some of the elements of a hard sum had been given him and the
+others were wanting: he couldn&rsquo;t do his sum till he had got all
+his figures.</p>
+<p>He dressed and drove quickly, so that by half-past eleven he was
+at Manchester Square.&nbsp; There were a good many carriages at the
+door&mdash;a party was going on; a circumstance which at the last gave
+him a slight relief, for now he would rather see her in a crowd.&nbsp;
+People passed him on the staircase; they were going away, going &ldquo;on&rdquo;
+with the hunted herdlike movement of London society at night.&nbsp;
+But sundry groups remained in the drawing-room, and it was some minutes,
+as she didn&rsquo;t hear him announced, before he discovered and spoke
+to her.&nbsp; In this short interval he had seen St. George talking
+to a lady before the fireplace; but he at once looked away, feeling
+unready for an encounter, and therefore couldn&rsquo;t be sure the author
+of &ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; noticed him.&nbsp; At all events he didn&rsquo;t
+come over though Miss Fancourt did as soon as she saw him&mdash;she
+almost rushed at him, smiling rustling radiant beautiful.&nbsp; He had
+forgotten what her head, what her face offered to the sight; she was
+in white, there were gold figures on her dress and her hair was a casque
+of gold.&nbsp; He saw in a single moment that she was happy, happy with
+an aggressive splendour.&nbsp; But she wouldn&rsquo;t speak to him of
+that, she would speak only of himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so delighted; my father told me.&nbsp; How kind
+of you to come!&rdquo;&nbsp; She struck him as so fresh and brave, while
+his eyes moved over her, that he said to himself irresistibly: &ldquo;Why
+to him, why not to youth, to strength, to ambition, to a future?&nbsp;
+Why, in her rich young force, to failure, to abdication to superannuation?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+In his thought at that sharp moment he blasphemed even against all that
+had been left of his faith in the peccable Master.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+so sorry I missed you,&rdquo; she went on.&nbsp; &ldquo;My father told
+me.&nbsp; How charming of you to have come so soon!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does that surprise you?&rdquo; Paul Overt asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The first day?&nbsp; No, from you&mdash;nothing that&rsquo;s
+nice.&rdquo;&nbsp; She was interrupted by a lady who bade her good-night,
+and he seemed to read that it cost her nothing to speak to him in that
+tone; it was her old liberal lavish way, with a certain added amplitude
+that time had brought; and if this manner began to operate on the spot,
+at such a juncture in her history, perhaps in the other days too it
+had meant just as little or as much&mdash;a mere mechanical charity,
+with the difference now that she was satisfied, ready to give but in
+want of nothing.&nbsp; Oh she was satisfied&mdash;and why shouldn&rsquo;t
+she be?&nbsp; Why shouldn&rsquo;t she have been surprised at his coming
+the first day&mdash;for all the good she had ever got from him?&nbsp;
+As the lady continued to hold her attention Paul turned from her with
+a strange irritation in his complicated artistic soul and a sort of
+disinterested disappointment.&nbsp; She was so happy that it was almost
+stupid&mdash;a disproof of the extraordinary intelligence he had formerly
+found in her.&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t she know how bad St. George could be,
+hadn&rsquo;t she recognised the awful thinness&mdash;?&nbsp; If she
+didn&rsquo;t she was nothing, and if she did why such an insolence of
+serenity?&nbsp; This question expired as our young man&rsquo;s eyes
+settled at last on the genius who had advised him in a great crisis.&nbsp;
+St. George was still before the chimney-piece, but now he was alone&mdash;fixed,
+waiting, as if he meant to stop after every one&mdash;and he met the
+clouded gaze of the young friend so troubled as to the degree of his
+right (the right his resentment would have enjoyed) to regard himself
+as a victim.&nbsp; Somehow the ravage of the question was checked by
+the Master&rsquo;s radiance.&nbsp; It was as fine in its way as Marian
+Fancourt&rsquo;s, it denoted the happy human being; but also it represented
+to Paul Overt that the author of &ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; had now definitely
+ceased to count&mdash;ceased to count as a writer.&nbsp; As he smiled
+a welcome across the place he was almost banal, was almost smug.&nbsp;
+Paul fancied that for a moment he hesitated to make a movement, as if
+for all the world he <i>had</i> his bad conscience; then they had already
+met in the middle of the room and had shaken hands&mdash;expressively,
+cordially on St. George&rsquo;s part.&nbsp; With which they had passed
+back together to where the elder man had been standing, while St. George
+said: &ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;re never going away again.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve
+been dining here; the General told me.&rdquo;&nbsp; He was handsome,
+he was young, he looked as if he had still a great fund of life.&nbsp;
+He bent the friendliest, most unconfessing eyes on his disciple of a
+couple of years before; asked him about everything, his health, his
+plans, his late occupations, the new book.&nbsp; &ldquo;When will it
+be out&mdash;soon, soon, I hope?&nbsp; Splendid, eh?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+right; you&rsquo;re a comfort, you&rsquo;re a luxury!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve
+read you all over again these last six months.&rdquo;&nbsp; Paul waited
+to see if he would tell him what the General had told him in the afternoon
+and what Miss Fancourt, verbally at least, of course hadn&rsquo;t.&nbsp;
+But as it didn&rsquo;t come out he at last put the question.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is it true, the great news I hear&mdash;that you&rsquo;re
+to be married?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah you have heard it then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t the General tell you?&rdquo; Paul asked.</p>
+<p>The Master&rsquo;s face was wonderful.&nbsp; &ldquo;Tell me what?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That he mentioned it to me this afternoon?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow, I don&rsquo;t remember.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve
+been in the midst of people.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sorry, in that case, that
+I lose the pleasure, myself, of announcing to you a fact that touches
+me so nearly.&nbsp; It <i>is</i> a fact, strange as it may appear.&nbsp;
+It has only just become one.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t it ridiculous?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+St. George made this speech without confusion, but on the other hand,
+so far as our friend could judge, without latent impudence.&nbsp; It
+struck his interlocutor that, to talk so comfortably and coolly, he
+must simply have forgotten what had passed between them.&nbsp; His next
+words, however, showed he hadn&rsquo;t, and they produced, as an appeal
+to Paul&rsquo;s own memory, an effect which would have been ludicrous
+if it hadn&rsquo;t been cruel.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you recall the talk we
+had at my house that night, into which Miss Fancourt&rsquo;s name entered?&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve often thought of it since.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; no wonder you said what you did&rdquo;&mdash;Paul was
+careful to meet his eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the light of the present occasion?&nbsp; Ah but there was
+no light then.&nbsp; How could I have foreseen this hour?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you think it probable?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Upon my honour, no,&rdquo; said Henry St. George.&nbsp; &ldquo;Certainly
+I owe you that assurance.&nbsp; Think how my situation has changed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I see&mdash;I see,&rdquo; our young man murmured.</p>
+<p>His companion went on as if, now that the subject had been broached,
+he was, as a person of imagination and tact, quite ready to give every
+satisfaction&mdash;being both by his genius and his method so able to
+enter into everything another might feel.&nbsp; &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s
+not only that; for honestly, at my age, I never dreamed&mdash;a widower
+with big boys and with so little else!&nbsp; It has turned out differently
+from anything one could have dreamed, and I&rsquo;m fortunate beyond
+all measure.&nbsp; She has been so free, and yet she consents.&nbsp;
+Better than any one else perhaps&mdash;for I remember how you liked
+her before you went away, and how she liked you&mdash;you can intelligently
+congratulate me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has been so free!&rdquo;&nbsp; Those words made a great
+impression on Paul Overt, and he almost writhed under that irony in
+them as to which it so little mattered whether it was designed or casual.&nbsp;
+Of course she had been free, and appreciably perhaps by his own act;
+for wasn&rsquo;t the Master&rsquo;s allusion to her having liked him
+a part of the irony too?&nbsp; &ldquo;I thought that by your theory
+you disapproved of a writer&rsquo;s marrying.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Surely&mdash;surely.&nbsp; But you don&rsquo;t call me a writer?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You ought to be ashamed,&rdquo; said Paul.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ashamed of marrying again?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t say that&mdash;but ashamed of your reasons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The elder man beautifully smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;You must let me judge
+of them, my good friend.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes; why not?&nbsp; For you judged wonderfully of mine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for St. George, to suggest
+the unsuspected.&nbsp; He stared as if divining a bitterness.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think I&rsquo;ve been straight?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might have told me at the time perhaps.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow, when I say I couldn&rsquo;t pierce futurity&mdash;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I mean afterwards.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Master wondered.&nbsp; &ldquo;After my wife&rsquo;s death?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When this idea came to you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah never, never!&nbsp; I wanted to save you, rare and precious
+as you are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Poor Overt looked hard at him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Are you marrying Miss
+Fancourt to save me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not absolutely, but it adds to the pleasure.&nbsp; I shall
+be the making of you,&rdquo; St. George smiled.&nbsp; &ldquo;I was greatly
+struck, after our talk, with the brave devoted way you quitted the country,
+and still more perhaps with your force of character in remaining abroad.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;re very strong&mdash;you&rsquo;re wonderfully strong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Paul tried to sound his shining eyes; the strange thing was that
+he seemed sincere&mdash;not a mocking fiend.&nbsp; He turned away, and
+as he did so heard the Master say something about his giving them all
+the proof, being the joy of his old age.&nbsp; He faced him again, taking
+another look.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you mean to say you&rsquo;ve stopped writing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My dear fellow, of course I have.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s too late.&nbsp;
+Didn&rsquo;t I tell you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t believe it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course you can&rsquo;t&mdash;with your own talent!&nbsp;
+No, no; for the rest of my life I shall only read <i>you</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Does she know that&mdash;Miss Fancourt?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She will&mdash;she will.&rdquo;&nbsp; Did he mean this, our
+young man wondered, as a covert intimation that the assistance he should
+derive from that young lady&rsquo;s fortune, moderate as it was, would
+make the difference of putting it in his power to cease to work ungratefully
+an exhausted vein?&nbsp; Somehow, standing there in the ripeness of
+his successful manhood, he didn&rsquo;t suggest that any of his veins
+were exhausted.&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you remember the moral I offered
+myself to you that night as pointing?&rdquo; St. George continued.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Consider at any rate the warning I am at present.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This was too much&mdash;he <i>was</i> the mocking fiend.&nbsp; Paul
+turned from him with a mere nod for good-night and the sense in a sore
+heart that he might come back to him and his easy grace, his fine way
+of arranging things, some time in the far future, but couldn&rsquo;t
+fraternise with him now.&nbsp; It was necessary to his soreness to believe
+for the hour in the intensity of his grievance&mdash;all the more cruel
+for its not being a legal one.&nbsp; It was doubtless in the attitude
+of hugging this wrong that he descended the stairs without taking leave
+of Miss Fancourt, who hadn&rsquo;t been in view at the moment he quitted
+the room.&nbsp; He was glad to get out into the honest dusky unsophisticating
+night, to move fast, to take his way home on foot.&nbsp; He walked a
+long time, going astray, paying no attention.&nbsp; He was thinking
+of too many other things.&nbsp; His steps recovered their direction,
+however, and at the end of an hour he found himself before his door
+in the small inexpensive empty street.&nbsp; He lingered, questioning
+himself still before going in, with nothing around and above him but
+moonless blackness, a bad lamp or two and a few far-away dim stars.&nbsp;
+To these last faint features he raised his eyes; he had been saying
+to himself that he should have been &ldquo;sold&rdquo; indeed, diabolically
+sold, if now, on his new foundation, at the end of a year, St. George
+were to put forth something of his prime quality&mdash;something of
+the type of &ldquo;Shadowmere&rdquo; and finer than his finest.&nbsp;
+Greatly as he admired his talent Paul literally hoped such an incident
+wouldn&rsquo;t occur; it seemed to him just then that he shouldn&rsquo;t
+be able to bear it.&nbsp; His late adviser&rsquo;s words were still
+in his ears&mdash;&ldquo;You&rsquo;re very strong, wonderfully strong.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Was he really?&nbsp; Certainly he would have to be, and it might a little
+serve for revenge.&nbsp; <i>Is</i> he? the reader may ask in turn, if
+his interest has followed the perplexed young man so far.&nbsp; The
+best answer to that perhaps is that he&rsquo;s doing his best, but that
+it&rsquo;s too soon to say.&nbsp; When the new book came out in the
+autumn Mr. and Mrs. St. George found it really magnificent.&nbsp; The
+former still has published nothing but Paul doesn&rsquo;t even yet feel
+safe.&nbsp; I may say for him, however, that if this event were to occur
+he would really be the very first to appreciate it: which is perhaps
+a proof that the Master was essentially right and that Nature had dedicated
+him to intellectual, not to personal passion.</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LESSON OF THE MASTER***</p>
+<pre>
+
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lesson of the Master, by Henry James
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Lesson of the Master
+
+
+Author: Henry James
+
+Release Date: May 13, 2005  [eBook #898]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LESSON OF THE MASTER***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LESSON OF THE MASTER
+by Henry James
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+He had been told the ladies were at church, but this was corrected by
+what he saw from the top of the steps--they descended from a great height
+in two arms, with a circular sweep of the most charming effect--at the
+threshold of the door which, from the long bright gallery, overlooked the
+immense lawn.  Three gentlemen, on the grass, at a distance, sat under
+the great trees, while the fourth figure showed a crimson dress that told
+as a "bit of colour" amid the fresh rich green.  The servant had so far
+accompanied Paul Overt as to introduce him to this view, after asking him
+if he wished first to go to his room.  The young man declined that
+privilege, conscious of no disrepair from so short and easy a journey and
+always liking to take at once a general perceptive possession of a new
+scene.  He stood there a little with his eyes on the group and on the
+admirable picture, the wide grounds of an old country-house near
+London--that only made it better--on a splendid Sunday in June.  "But
+that lady, who's _she_?" he said to the servant before the man left him.
+
+"I think she's Mrs. St. George, sir."
+
+"Mrs. St. George, the wife of the distinguished--"  Then Paul Overt
+checked himself, doubting if a footman would know.
+
+"Yes, sir--probably, sir," said his guide, who appeared to wish to
+intimate that a person staying at Summersoft would naturally be, if only
+by alliance, distinguished.  His tone, however, made poor Overt himself
+feel for the moment scantly so.
+
+"And the gentlemen?" Overt went on.
+
+"Well, sir, one of them's General Fancourt."
+
+"Ah yes, I know; thank you."  General Fancourt was distinguished, there
+was no doubt of that, for something he had done, or perhaps even hadn't
+done--the young man couldn't remember which--some years before in India.
+The servant went away, leaving the glass doors open into the gallery, and
+Paul Overt remained at the head of the wide double staircase, saying to
+himself that the place was sweet and promised a pleasant visit, while he
+leaned on the balustrade of fine old ironwork which, like all the other
+details, was of the same period as the house.  It all went together and
+spoke in one voice--a rich English voice of the early part of the
+eighteenth century.  It might have been church-time on a summer's day in
+the reign of Queen Anne; the stillness was too perfect to be modern, the
+nearness counted so as distance, and there was something so fresh and
+sound in the originality of the large smooth house, the expanse of
+beautiful brickwork that showed for pink rather than red and that had
+been kept clear of messy creepers by the law under which a woman with a
+rare complexion disdains a veil.  When Paul Overt became aware that the
+people under the trees had noticed him he turned back through the open
+doors into the great gallery which was the pride of the place.  It
+marched across from end to end and seemed--with its bright colours, its
+high panelled windows, its faded flowered chintzes, its
+quickly-recognised portraits and pictures, the blue-and-white china of
+its cabinets and the attenuated festoons and rosettes of its ceiling--a
+cheerful upholstered avenue into the other century.
+
+Our friend was slightly nervous; that went with his character as a
+student of fine prose, went with the artist's general disposition to
+vibrate; and there was a particular thrill in the idea that Henry St.
+George might be a member of the party.  For the young aspirant he had
+remained a high literary figure, in spite of the lower range of
+production to which he had fallen after his first three great successes,
+the comparative absence of quality in his later work.  There had been
+moments when Paul Overt almost shed tears for this; but now that he was
+near him--he had never met him--he was conscious only of the fine
+original source and of his own immense debt.  After he had taken a turn
+or two up and down the gallery he came out again and descended the steps.
+He was but slenderly supplied with a certain social boldness--it was
+really a weakness in him--so that, conscious of a want of acquaintance
+with the four persons in the distance, he gave way to motions recommended
+by their not committing him to a positive approach.  There was a fine
+English awkwardness in this--he felt that too as he sauntered vaguely and
+obliquely across the lawn, taking an independent line.  Fortunately there
+was an equally fine English directness in the way one of the gentlemen
+presently rose and made as if to "stalk" him, though with an air of
+conciliation and reassurance.  To this demonstration Paul Overt instantly
+responded, even if the gentleman were not his host.  He was tall,
+straight and elderly and had, like the great house itself, a pink smiling
+face, and into the bargain a white moustache.  Our young man met him
+halfway while he laughed and said: "Er--Lady Watermouth told us you were
+coming; she asked me just to look after you."  Paul Overt thanked him,
+liking him on the spot, and turned round with him to walk toward the
+others.  "They've all gone to church--all except us," the stranger
+continued as they went; "we're just sitting here--it's so jolly."  Overt
+pronounced it jolly indeed: it was such a lovely place.  He mentioned
+that he was having the charming impression for the first time.
+
+"Ah you've not been here before?" said his companion.  "It's a nice
+little place--not much to _do_, you know".  Overt wondered what he wanted
+to "do"--he felt that he himself was doing so much.  By the time they
+came to where the others sat he had recognised his initiator for a
+military man and--such was the turn of Overt's imagination--had found him
+thus still more sympathetic.  He would naturally have a need for action,
+for deeds at variance with the pacific pastoral scene.  He was evidently
+so good-natured, however, that he accepted the inglorious hour for what
+it was worth.  Paul Overt shared it with him and with his companions for
+the next twenty minutes; the latter looked at him and he looked at them
+without knowing much who they were, while the talk went on without much
+telling him even what it meant.  It seemed indeed to mean nothing in
+particular; it wandered, with casual pointless pauses and short
+terrestrial flights, amid names of persons and places--names which, for
+our friend, had no great power of evocation.  It was all sociable and
+slow, as was right and natural of a warm Sunday morning.
+
+His first attention was given to the question, privately considered, of
+whether one of the two younger men would be Henry St. George.  He knew
+many of his distinguished contemporaries by their photographs, but had
+never, as happened, seen a portrait of the great misguided novelist.  One
+of the gentlemen was unimaginable--he was too young; and the other
+scarcely looked clever enough, with such mild undiscriminating eyes.  If
+those eyes were St. George's the problem, presented by the ill-matched
+parts of his genius would be still more difficult of solution.  Besides,
+the deportment of their proprietor was not, as regards the lady in the
+red dress, such as could be natural, toward the wife of his bosom, even
+to a writer accused by several critics of sacrificing too much to manner.
+Lastly Paul Overt had a vague sense that if the gentleman with the
+expressionless eyes bore the name that had set his heart beating faster
+(he also had contradictory conventional whiskers--the young admirer of
+the celebrity had never in a mental vision seen _his_ face in so vulgar a
+frame) he would have given him a sign of recognition or of friendliness,
+would have heard of him a little, would know something about
+"Ginistrella," would have an impression of how that fresh fiction had
+caught the eye of real criticism.  Paul Overt had a dread of being
+grossly proud, but even morbid modesty might view the authorship of
+"Ginistrella" as constituting a degree of identity.  His soldierly friend
+became clear enough: he was "Fancourt," but was also "the General"; and
+he mentioned to the new visitor in the course of a few moments that he
+had but lately returned from twenty years service abroad.
+
+"And now you remain in England?" the young man asked.
+
+"Oh yes; I've bought a small house in London."
+
+"And I hope you like it," said Overt, looking at Mrs. St. George.
+
+"Well, a little house in Manchester Square--there's a limit to the
+enthusiasm _that_ inspires."
+
+"Oh I meant being at home again--being back in Piccadilly."
+
+"My daughter likes Piccadilly--that's the main thing.  She's very fond of
+art and music and literature and all that kind of thing.  She missed it
+in India and she finds it in London, or she hopes she'll find it.  Mr.
+St. George has promised to help her--he has been awfully kind to her.  She
+has gone to church--she's fond of that too--but they'll all be back in a
+quarter of an hour.  You must let me introduce you to her--she'll be so
+glad to know you.  I dare say she has read every blest word you've
+written."
+
+"I shall be delighted--I haven't written so very many," Overt pleaded,
+feeling, and without resentment, that the General at least was vagueness
+itself about that.  But he wondered a little why, expressing this
+friendly disposition, it didn't occur to the doubtless eminent soldier to
+pronounce the word that would put him in relation with Mrs. St. George.
+If it was a question of introductions Miss Fancourt--apparently as yet
+unmarried--was far away, while the wife of his illustrious confrere was
+almost between them.  This lady struck Paul Overt as altogether pretty,
+with a surprising juvenility and a high smartness of aspect, something
+that--he could scarcely have said why--served for mystification.  St.
+George certainly had every right to a charming wife, but he himself would
+never have imagined the important little woman in the aggressively
+Parisian dress the partner for life, the alter ego, of a man of letters.
+That partner in general, he knew, that second self, was far from
+presenting herself in a single type: observation had taught him that she
+was not inveterately, not necessarily plain.  But he had never before
+seen her look so much as if her prosperity had deeper foundations than an
+ink-spotted study-table littered with proof-sheets.  Mrs. St. George
+might have been the wife of a gentleman who "kept" books rather than
+wrote them, who carried on great affairs in the City and made better
+bargains than those that poets mostly make with publishers.  With this
+she hinted at a success more personal--a success peculiarly stamping the
+age in which society, the world of conversation, is a great drawing-room
+with the City for its antechamber.  Overt numbered her years at first as
+some thirty, and then ended by believing that she might approach her
+fiftieth.  But she somehow in this case juggled away the excess and the
+difference--you only saw them in a rare glimpse, like the rabbit in the
+conjurer's sleeve.  She was extraordinarily white, and her every element
+and item was pretty; her eyes, her ears, her hair, her voice, her hands,
+her feet--to which her relaxed attitude in her wicker chair gave a great
+publicity--and the numerous ribbons and trinkets with which she was
+bedecked.  She looked as if she had put on her best clothes to go to
+church and then had decided they were too good for that and had stayed at
+home.  She told a story of some length about the shabby way Lady Jane had
+treated the Duchess, as well as an anecdote in relation to a purchase she
+had made in Paris--on her way back from Cannes; made for Lady Egbert, who
+had never refunded the money.  Paul Overt suspected her of a tendency to
+figure great people as larger than life, until he noticed the manner in
+which she handled Lady Egbert, which was so sharply mutinous that it
+reassured him.  He felt he should have understood her better if he might
+have met her eye; but she scarcely so much as glanced at him.  "Ah here
+they come--all the good ones!" she said at last; and Paul Overt admired
+at his distance the return of the church-goers--several persons, in
+couples and threes, advancing in a flicker of sun and shade at the end of
+a large green vista formed by the level grass and the overarching boughs.
+
+"If you mean to imply that _we're_ bad, I protest," said one of the
+gentlemen--"after making one's self agreeable all the morning!"
+
+"Ah if they've found you agreeable--!" Mrs. St. George gaily cried.  "But
+if we're good the others are better."
+
+"They must be angels then," said the amused General.
+
+"Your husband was an angel, the way he went off at your bidding," the
+gentleman who had first spoken declared to Mrs. St. George.
+
+"At my bidding?"
+
+"Didn't you make him go to church?"
+
+"I never made him do anything in my life but once--when I made him burn
+up a bad book.  That's all!"  At her "That's all!" our young friend broke
+into an irrepressible laugh; it lasted only a second, but it drew her
+eyes to him.  His own met them, though not long enough to help him to
+understand her; unless it were a step towards this that he saw on the
+instant how the burnt book--the way she alluded to it!--would have been
+one of her husband's finest things.
+
+"A bad book?" her interlocutor repeated.
+
+"I didn't like it.  He went to church because your daughter went," she
+continued to General Fancourt.  "I think it my duty to call your
+attention to his extraordinary demonstrations to your daughter."
+
+"Well, if you don't mind them I don't," the General laughed.
+
+"Il s'attache a ses pas.  But I don't wonder--she's so charming."
+
+"I hope she won't make him burn any books!" Paul Overt ventured to
+exclaim.
+
+"If she'd make him write a few it would be more to the purpose," said
+Mrs. St. George.  "He has been of a laziness of late--!"
+
+Our young man stared--he was so struck with the lady's phraseology.  Her
+"Write a few" seemed to him almost as good as her "That's all."  Didn't
+she, as the wife of a rare artist, know what it was to produce one
+perfect work of art?  How in the world did she think they were turned off?
+His private conviction was that, admirably as Henry St. George wrote, he
+had written for the last ten years, and especially for the last five,
+only too much, and there was an instant during which he felt inwardly
+solicited to make this public.  But before he had spoken a diversion was
+effected by the return of the absentees.  They strolled up
+dispersedly--there were eight or ten of them--and the circle under the
+trees rearranged itself as they took their place in it.  They made it
+much larger, so that Paul Overt could feel--he was always feeling that
+sort of thing, as he said to himself--that if the company had already
+been interesting to watch the interest would now become intense.  He
+shook hands with his hostess, who welcomed him without many words, in the
+manner of a woman able to trust him to understand and conscious that so
+pleasant an occasion would in every way speak for itself.  She offered
+him no particular facility for sitting by her, and when they had all
+subsided again he found himself still next General Fancourt, with an
+unknown lady on his other flank.
+
+"That's my daughter--that one opposite," the General said to him without
+lose of time.  Overt saw a tall girl, with magnificent red hair, in a
+dress of a pretty grey-green tint and of a limp silken texture, a garment
+that clearly shirked every modern effect.  It had therefore somehow the
+stamp of the latest thing, so that our beholder quickly took her for
+nothing if not contemporaneous.
+
+"She's very handsome--very handsome," he repeated while he considered
+her.  There was something noble in her head, and she appeared fresh and
+strong.
+
+Her good father surveyed her with complacency, remarking soon: "She looks
+too hot--that's her walk.  But she'll be all right presently.  Then I'll
+make her come over and speak to you."
+
+"I should be sorry to give you that trouble.  If you were to take me over
+_there_--!" the young man murmured.
+
+"My dear sir, do you suppose I put myself out that way?  I don't mean for
+you, but for Marian," the General added.
+
+"_I_ would put myself out for her soon enough," Overt replied; after
+which he went on: "Will you be so good as to tell me which of those
+gentlemen is Henry St. George?"
+
+"The fellow talking to my girl.  By Jove, he _is_ making up to
+her--they're going off for another walk."
+
+"Ah is that he--really?"  Our friend felt a certain surprise, for the
+personage before him seemed to trouble a vision which had been vague only
+while not confronted with the reality.  As soon as the reality dawned the
+mental image, retiring with a sigh, became substantial enough to suffer a
+slight wrong.  Overt, who had spent a considerable part of his short life
+in foreign lands, made now, but not for the first time, the reflexion
+that whereas in those countries he had almost always recognised the
+artist and the man of letters by his personal "type," the mould of his
+face, the character of his head, the expression of his figure and even
+the indications of his dress, so in England this identification was as
+little as possible a matter of course, thanks to the greater conformity,
+the habit of sinking the profession instead of advertising it, the
+general diffusion of the air of the gentleman--the gentleman committed to
+no particular set of ideas.  More than once, on returning to his own
+country, he had said to himself about people met in society: "One sees
+them in this place and that, and one even talks with them; but to find
+out what they _do_ one would really have to be a detective."  In respect
+to several individuals whose work he was the opposite of "drawn
+to"--perhaps he was wrong--he found himself adding "No wonder they
+conceal it--when it's so bad!"  He noted that oftener than in France and
+in Germany his artist looked like a gentleman--that is like an English
+one--while, certainly outside a few exceptions, his gentlemen didn't look
+like an artist.  St. George was not one of the exceptions; that
+circumstance he definitely apprehended before the great man had turned
+his back to walk off with Miss Fancourt.  He certainly looked better
+behind than any foreign man of letters--showed for beautifully correct in
+his tall black hat and his superior frock coat.  Somehow, all the same,
+these very garments--he wouldn't have minded them so much on a
+weekday--were disconcerting to Paul Overt, who forgot for the moment that
+the head of the profession was not a bit better dressed than himself.  He
+had caught a glimpse of a regular face, a fresh colour, a brown moustache
+and a pair of eyes surely never visited by a fine frenzy, and he promised
+himself to study these denotements on the first occasion.  His
+superficial sense was that their owner might have passed for a lucky
+stockbroker--a gentleman driving eastward every morning from a sanitary
+suburb in a smart dog-cart.  That carried out the impression already
+derived from his wife.  Paul's glance, after a moment, travelled back to
+this lady, and he saw how her own had followed her husband as he moved
+off with Miss Fancourt.  Overt permitted himself to wonder a little if
+she were jealous when another woman took him away.  Then he made out that
+Mrs. St. George wasn't glaring at the indifferent maiden.  Her eyes
+rested but on her husband, and with unmistakeable serenity.  That was the
+way she wanted him to be--she liked his conventional uniform.  Overt
+longed to hear more about the book she had induced him to destroy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+As they all came out from luncheon General Fancourt took hold of him with
+an "I say, I want you to know my girl!" as if the idea had just occurred
+to him and he hadn't spoken of it before.  With the other hand he
+possessed himself all paternally of the young lady.  "You know all about
+him.  I've seen you with his books.  She reads everything--everything!"
+he went on to Paul.  The girl smiled at him and then laughed at her
+father.  The General turned away and his daughter spoke--"Isn't papa
+delightful?"
+
+"He is indeed, Miss Fancourt."
+
+"As if I read you because I read 'everything'!"
+
+"Oh I don't mean for saying that," said Paul Overt.  "I liked him from
+the moment he began to be kind to me.  Then he promised me this
+privilege."
+
+"It isn't for you he means it--it's for me.  If you flatter yourself that
+he thinks of anything in life but me you'll find you're mistaken.  He
+introduces every one.  He thinks me insatiable."
+
+"You speak just like him," laughed our youth.
+
+"Ah but sometimes I want to"--and the girl coloured.  "I don't read
+everything--I read very little.  But I _have_ read you."
+
+"Suppose we go into the gallery," said Paul Overt.  She pleased him
+greatly, not so much because of this last remark--though that of course
+was not too disconcerting--as because, seated opposite to him at
+luncheon, she had given him for half an hour the impression of her
+beautiful face.  Something else had come with it--a sense of generosity,
+of an enthusiasm which, unlike many enthusiasms, was not all manner.  That
+was not spoiled for him by his seeing that the repast had placed her
+again in familiar contact with Henry St. George.  Sitting next her this
+celebrity was also opposite our young man, who had been able to note that
+he multiplied the attentions lately brought by his wife to the General's
+notice.  Paul Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not in the
+least discomposed by these fond excesses and that she gave every sign of
+an unclouded spirit.  She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on the
+other the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new high-class lively
+evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt in circles
+increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made amusing, and
+unconvinced when assured by those of another political colour that it was
+already amusing enough.  At the end of an hour spent in her company Paul
+Overt thought her still prettier than at the first radiation, and if her
+profane allusions to her husband's work had not still rung in his ears he
+should have liked her--so far as it could be a question of that in
+connexion with a woman to whom he had not yet spoken and to whom probably
+he should never speak if it were left to her.  Pretty women were a clear
+need to this genius, and for the hour it was Miss Fancourt who supplied
+the want.  If Overt had promised himself a closer view the occasion was
+now of the best, and it brought consequences felt by the young man as
+important.  He saw more in St. George's face, which he liked the better
+for its not having told its whole story in the first three minutes.  That
+story came out as one read, in short instalments--it was excusable that
+one's analogies should be somewhat professional--and the text was a style
+considerably involved, a language not easy to translate at sight.  There
+were shades of meaning in it and a vague perspective of history which
+receded as you advanced.  Two facts Paul had particularly heeded.  The
+first of these was that he liked the measured mask much better at
+inscrutable rest than in social agitation; its almost convulsive smile
+above all displeased him (as much as any impression from that source
+could), whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in proportion as
+stillness settled again.  The change to the expression of gaiety excited,
+he made out, very much the private protest of a person sitting gratefully
+in the twilight when the lamp is brought in too soon.  His second
+reflexion was that, though generally averse to the flagrant use of
+ingratiating arts by a man of age "making up" to a pretty girl, he was
+not in this case too painfully affected: which seemed to prove either
+that St. George had a light hand or the air of being younger than he was,
+or else that Miss Fancourt's own manner somehow made everything right.
+
+Overt walked with her into the gallery, and they strolled to the end of
+it, looking at the pictures, the cabinets, the charming vista, which
+harmonised with the prospect of the summer afternoon, resembling it by a
+long brightness, with great divans and old chairs that figured hours of
+rest.  Such a place as that had the added merit of giving those who came
+into it plenty to talk about.  Miss Fancourt sat down with her new
+acquaintance on a flowered sofa, the cushions of which, very numerous,
+were tight ancient cubes of many sizes, and presently said: "I'm so glad
+to have a chance to thank you."
+
+"To thank me--?"  He had to wonder.
+
+"I liked your book so much.  I think it splendid."
+
+She sat there smiling at him, and he never asked himself which book she
+meant; for after all he had written three or four.  That seemed a vulgar
+detail, and he wasn't even gratified by the idea of the pleasure she told
+him--her handsome bright face told him--he had given her.  The feeling
+she appealed to, or at any rate the feeling she excited, was something
+larger, something that had little to do with any quickened pulsation of
+his own vanity.  It was responsive admiration of the life she embodied,
+the young purity and richness of which appeared to imply that real
+success was to resemble _that_, to live, to bloom, to present the
+perfection of a fine type, not to have hammered out headachy fancies with
+a bent back at an ink-stained table.  While her grey eyes rested on
+him--there was a wideish space between these, and the division of her
+rich-coloured hair, so thick that it ventured to be smooth, made a free
+arch above them--he was almost ashamed of that exercise of the pen which
+it was her present inclination to commend.  He was conscious he should
+have liked better to please her in some other way.  The lines of her face
+were those of a woman grown, but the child lingered on in her complexion
+and in the sweetness of her mouth.  Above all she was natural--that was
+indubitable now; more natural than he had supposed at first, perhaps on
+account of her aesthetic toggery, which was conventionally
+unconventional, suggesting what he might have called a tortuous
+spontaneity.  He had feared that sort of thing in other cases, and his
+fears had been justified; for, though he was an artist to the essence,
+the modern reactionary nymph, with the brambles of the woodland caught in
+her folds and a look as if the satyrs had toyed with her hair, made him
+shrink not as a man of starch and patent leather, but as a man
+potentially himself a poet or even a faun.  The girl was really more
+candid than her costume, and the best proof of it was her supposing her
+liberal character suited by any uniform.  This was a fallacy, since if
+she was draped as a pessimist he was sure she liked the taste of life.  He
+thanked her for her appreciation--aware at the same time that he didn't
+appear to thank her enough and that she might think him ungracious.  He
+was afraid she would ask him to explain something he had written, and he
+always winced at that--perhaps too timidly--for to his own ear the
+explanation of a work of art sounded fatuous.  But he liked her so much
+as to feel a confidence that in the long run he should be able to show
+her he wasn't rudely evasive.  Moreover she surely wasn't quick to take
+offence, wasn't irritable; she could be trusted to wait.  So when he said
+to her, "Ah don't talk of anything I've done, don't talk of it _here_;
+there's another man in the house who's the actuality!"--when he uttered
+this short sincere protest it was with the sense that she would see in
+the words neither mock humility nor the impatience of a successful man
+bored with praise.
+
+"You mean Mr. St. George--isn't he delightful?"
+
+Paul Overt met her eyes, which had a cool morning-light that would have
+half-broken his heart if he hadn't been so young.  "Alas I don't know
+him.  I only admire him at a distance."
+
+"Oh you must know him--he wants so to talk to you," returned Miss
+Fancourt, who evidently had the habit of saying the things that, by her
+quick calculation, would give people pleasure.  Paul saw how she would
+always calculate on everything's being simple between others.
+
+"I shouldn't have supposed he knew anything about me," he professed.
+
+"He does then--everything.  And if he didn't I should be able to tell
+him."
+
+"To tell him everything?" our friend smiled.
+
+"You talk just like the people in your book!" she answered.
+
+"Then they must all talk alike."
+
+She thought a moment, not a bit disconcerted.  "Well, it must be so
+difficult.  Mr. St. George tells me it _is_--terribly.  I've tried
+too--and I find it so.  I've tried to write a novel."
+
+"Mr. St. George oughtn't to discourage you," Paul went so far as to say.
+
+"You do much more--when you wear that expression."
+
+"Well, after all, why try to be an artist?" the young man pursued.  "It's
+so poor--so poor!"
+
+"I don't know what you mean," said Miss Fancourt, who looked grave.
+
+"I mean as compared with being a person of action--as living your works."
+
+"But what's art but an intense life--if it be real?" she asked.  "I think
+it's the only one--everything else is so clumsy!"  Her companion laughed,
+and she brought out with her charming serenity what next struck her.
+"It's so interesting to meet so many celebrated people."
+
+"So I should think--but surely it isn't new to you."
+
+"Why I've never seen any one--any one: living always in Asia."
+
+The way she talked of Asia somehow enchanted him.  "But doesn't that
+continent swarm with great figures?  Haven't you administered provinces
+in India and had captive rajahs and tributary princes chained to your
+car?"
+
+It was as if she didn't care even _should_ he amuse himself at her cost.
+"I was with my father, after I left school to go out there.  It was
+delightful being with him--we're alone together in the world, he and
+I--but there was none of the society I like best.  One never heard of a
+picture--never of a book, except bad ones."
+
+"Never of a picture?  Why, wasn't all life a picture?"
+
+She looked over the delightful place where they sat.  "Nothing to compare
+to this.  I adore England!" she cried.
+
+It fairly stirred in him the sacred chord.  "Ah of course I don't deny
+that we must do something with her, poor old dear, yet."
+
+"She hasn't been touched, really," said the girl.
+
+"Did Mr. St. George say that?"
+
+There was a small and, as he felt, harmless spark of irony in his
+question; which, however, she answered very simply, not noticing the
+insinuation.  "Yes, he says England hasn't been touched--not considering
+all there is," she went on eagerly.  "He's so interesting about our
+country.  To listen to him makes one want so to do something."
+
+"It would make _me_ want to," said Paul Overt, feeling strongly, on the
+instant, the suggestion of what she said and that of the emotion with
+which she said it, and well aware of what an incentive, on St. George's
+lips, such a speech might be.
+
+"Oh you--as if you hadn't!  I should like so to hear you talk together,"
+she added ardently.
+
+"That's very genial of you; but he'd have it all his own way.  I'm
+prostrate before him."
+
+She had an air of earnestness.  "Do you think then he's so perfect?"
+
+"Far from it.  Some of his later books seem to me of a queerness--!"
+
+"Yes, yes--he knows that."
+
+Paul Overt stared.  "That they seem to me of a queerness--!"
+
+"Well yes, or at any rate that they're not what they should be.  He told
+me he didn't esteem them.  He has told me such wonderful things--he's so
+interesting."
+
+There was a certain shock for Paul Overt in the knowledge that the fine
+genius they were talking of had been reduced to so explicit a confession
+and had made it, in his misery, to the first comer; for though Miss
+Fancourt was charming what was she after all but an immature girl
+encountered at a country-house?  Yet precisely this was part of the
+sentiment he himself had just expressed: he would make way completely for
+the poor peccable great man not because he didn't read him clear, but
+altogether because he did.  His consideration was half composed of
+tenderness for superficialities which he was sure their perpetrator
+judged privately, judged more ferociously than any one, and which
+represented some tragic intellectual secret.  He would have his reasons
+for his psychology a fleur de peau, and these reasons could only be cruel
+ones, such as would make him dearer to those who already were fond of
+him.  "You excite my envy.  I have my reserves, I discriminate--but I
+love him," Paul said in a moment.  "And seeing him for the first time
+this way is a great event for me."
+
+"How momentous--how magnificent!" cried the girl.  "How delicious to
+bring you together!"
+
+"Your doing it--that makes it perfect," our friend returned.
+
+"He's as eager as you," she went on.  "But it's so odd you shouldn't have
+met."
+
+"It's not really so odd as it strikes you.  I've been out of England so
+much--made repeated absences all these last years."
+
+She took this in with interest.  "And yet you write of it as well as if
+you were always here."
+
+"It's just the being away perhaps.  At any rate the best bits, I suspect,
+are those that were done in dreary places abroad."
+
+"And why were they dreary?"
+
+"Because they were health-resorts--where my poor mother was dying."
+
+"Your poor mother?"--she was all sweet wonder.
+
+"We went from place to place to help her to get better.  But she never
+did.  To the deadly Riviera (I hate it!) to the high Alps, to Algiers,
+and far away--a hideous journey--to Colorado."
+
+"And she isn't better?" Miss Fancourt went on.
+
+"She died a year ago."
+
+"Really?--like mine!  Only that's years since.  Some day you must tell me
+about your mother," she added.
+
+He could at first, on this, only gaze at her.  "What right things you
+say!  If you say them to St. George I don't wonder he's in bondage."
+
+It pulled her up for a moment.  "I don't know what you mean.  He doesn't
+make speeches and professions at all--he isn't ridiculous."
+
+"I'm afraid you consider then that I am."
+
+"No, I don't"--she spoke it rather shortly.  And then she added: "He
+understands--understands everything."
+
+The young man was on the point of saying jocosely: "And I don't--is that
+it?"  But these words, in time, changed themselves to others slightly
+less trivial: "Do you suppose he understands his wife?"
+
+Miss Fancourt made no direct answer, but after a moment's hesitation put
+it: "Isn't she charming?"
+
+"Not in the least!"
+
+"Here he comes.  Now you must know him," she went on.  A small group of
+visitors had gathered at the other end of the gallery and had been there
+overtaken by Henry St. George, who strolled in from a neighbouring room.
+He stood near them a moment, not falling into the talk but taking up an
+old miniature from a table and vaguely regarding it.  At the end of a
+minute he became aware of Miss Fancourt and her companion in the
+distance; whereupon, laying down his miniature, he approached them with
+the same procrastinating air, his hands in his pockets and his eyes
+turned, right and left, to the pictures.  The gallery was so long that
+this transit took some little time, especially as there was a moment when
+he stopped to admire the fine Gainsborough.  "He says Mrs. St. George has
+been the making of him," the girl continued in a voice slightly lowered.
+
+"Ah he's often obscure!" Paul laughed.
+
+"Obscure?" she repeated as if she heard it for the first time.  Her eyes
+rested on her other friend, and it wasn't lost upon Paul that they
+appeared to send out great shafts of softness.  "He's going to speak to
+us!" she fondly breathed.  There was a sort of rapture in her voice, and
+our friend was startled.  "Bless my soul, does she care for him like
+_that_?--is she in love with him?" he mentally enquired.  "Didn't I tell
+you he was eager?" she had meanwhile asked of him.
+
+"It's eagerness dissimulated," the young man returned as the subject of
+their observation lingered before his Gainsborough.  "He edges toward us
+shyly.  Does he mean that she saved him by burning that book?"
+
+"That book? what book did she burn?"  The girl quickly turned her face to
+him.
+
+"Hasn't he told you then?"
+
+"Not a word."
+
+"Then he doesn't tell you everything!"  Paul had guessed that she pretty
+much supposed he did.  The great man had now resumed his course and come
+nearer; in spite of which his more qualified admirer risked a profane
+observation: "St. George and the Dragon is what the anecdote suggests!"
+
+His companion, however, didn't hear it; she smiled at the dragon's
+adversary.  "He _is_ eager--he is!" she insisted.
+
+"Eager for you--yes."
+
+But meanwhile she had called out: "I'm sure you want to know Mr. Overt.
+You'll be great friends, and it will always be delightful to me to
+remember I was here when you first met and that I had something to do
+with it."
+
+There was a freshness of intention in the words that carried them off;
+nevertheless our young man was sorry for Henry St. George, as he was
+sorry at any time for any person publicly invited to be responsive and
+delightful.  He would have been so touched to believe that a man he
+deeply admired should care a straw for him that he wouldn't play with
+such a presumption if it were possibly vain.  In a single glance of the
+eye of the pardonable Master he read--having the sort of divination that
+belonged to his talent--that this personage had ever a store of friendly
+patience, which was part of his rich outfit, but was versed in no printed
+page of a rising scribbler.  There was even a relief, a simplification,
+in that: liking him so much already for what he had done, how could one
+have liked him any more for a perception which must at the best have been
+vague?  Paul Overt got up, trying to show his compassion, but at the same
+instant he found himself encompassed by St. George's happy personal art--a
+manner of which it was the essence to conjure away false positions.  It
+all took place in a moment.  Paul was conscious that he knew him now,
+conscious of his handshake and of the very quality of his hand; of his
+face, seen nearer and consequently seen better, of a general fraternising
+assurance, and in particular of the circumstance that St. George didn't
+dislike him (as yet at least) for being imposed by a charming but too
+gushing girl, attractive enough without such danglers.  No irritation at
+any rate was reflected in the voice with which he questioned Miss
+Fancourt as to some project of a walk--a general walk of the company
+round the park.  He had soon said something to Paul about a talk--"We
+must have a tremendous lot of talk; there are so many things, aren't
+there?"--but our friend could see this idea wouldn't in the present case
+take very immediate effect.  All the same he was extremely happy, even
+after the matter of the walk had been settled--the three presently passed
+back to the other part of the gallery, where it was discussed with
+several members of the party; even when, after they had all gone out
+together, he found himself for half an hour conjoined with Mrs. St.
+George.  Her husband had taken the advance with Miss Fancourt, and this
+pair were quite out of sight.  It was the prettiest of rambles for a
+summer afternoon--a grassy circuit, of immense extent, skirting the limit
+of the park within.  The park was completely surrounded by its old
+mottled but perfect red wall, which, all the way on their left,
+constituted in itself an object of interest.  Mrs. St. George mentioned
+to him the surprising number of acres thus enclosed, together with
+numerous other facts relating to the property and the family, and the
+family's other properties: she couldn't too strongly urge on him the
+importance of seeing their other houses.  She ran over the names of these
+and rang the changes on them with the facility of practice, making them
+appear an almost endless list.  She had received Paul Overt very amiably
+on his breaking ground with her by the mention of his joy in having just
+made her husband's acquaintance, and struck him as so alert and so
+accommodating a little woman that he was rather ashamed of his _mot_
+about her to Miss Fancourt; though he reflected that a hundred other
+people, on a hundred occasions, would have been sure to make it.  He got
+on with Ms. St. George, in short, better than he expected; but this
+didn't prevent her suddenly becoming aware that she was faint with
+fatigue and must take her way back to the house by the shortest cut.  She
+professed that she hadn't the strength of a kitten and was a miserable
+wreck; a character he had been too preoccupied to discern in her while he
+wondered in what sense she could be held to have been the making of her
+husband.  He had arrived at a glimmering of the answer when she announced
+that she must leave him, though this perception was of course
+provisional.  While he was in the very act of placing himself at her
+disposal for the return the situation underwent a change; Lord Masham had
+suddenly turned up, coming back to them, overtaking them, emerging from
+the shrubbery--Overt could scarcely have said how he appeared--and Mrs.
+St. George had protested that she wanted to be left alone and not to
+break up the party.  A moment later she was walking off with Lord Masham.
+Our friend fell back and joined Lady Watermouth, to whom he presently
+mentioned that Mrs. St. George had been obliged to renounce the attempt
+to go further.
+
+"She oughtn't to have come out at all," her ladyship rather grumpily
+remarked.
+
+"Is she so very much of an invalid?"
+
+"Very bad indeed."  And his hostess added with still greater austerity:
+"She oughtn't really to come to one!"  He wondered what was implied by
+this, and presently gathered that it was not a reflexion on the lady's
+conduct or her moral nature: it only represented that her strength was
+not equal to her aspirations.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The smoking-room at Summersoft was on the scale of the rest of the place;
+high light commodious and decorated with such refined old carvings and
+mouldings that it seemed rather a bower for ladies who should sit at work
+at fading crewels than a parliament of gentlemen smoking strong cigars.
+The gentlemen mustered there in considerable force on the Sunday evening,
+collecting mainly at one end, in front of one of the cool fair fireplaces
+of white marble, the entablature of which was adorned with a delicate
+little Italian "subject."  There was another in the wall that faced it,
+and, thanks to the mild summer night, a fire in neither; but a nucleus
+for aggregation was furnished on one side by a table in the
+chimney-corner laden with bottles, decanters and tall tumblers.  Paul
+Overt was a faithless smoker; he would puff a cigarette for reasons with
+which tobacco had nothing to do.  This was particularly the case on the
+occasion of which I speak; his motive was the vision of a little direct
+talk with Henry St. George.  The "tremendous" communion of which the
+great man had held out hopes to him earlier in the day had not yet come
+off, and this saddened him considerably, for the party was to go its
+several ways immediately after breakfast on the morrow.  He had, however,
+the disappointment of finding that apparently the author of "Shadowmere"
+was not disposed to prolong his vigil.  He wasn't among the gentlemen
+assembled when Paul entered, nor was he one of those who turned up, in
+bright habiliments, during the next ten minutes.  The young man waited a
+little, wondering if he had only gone to put on something extraordinary;
+this would account for his delay as well as contribute further to Overt's
+impression of his tendency to do the approved superficial thing.  But he
+didn't arrive--he must have been putting on something more extraordinary
+than was probable.  Our hero gave him up, feeling a little injured, a
+little wounded, at this loss of twenty coveted words.  He wasn't angry,
+but he puffed his cigarette sighingly, with the sense of something rare
+possibly missed.  He wandered away with his regret and moved slowly round
+the room, looking at the old prints on the walls.  In this attitude he
+presently felt a hand on his shoulder and a friendly voice in his ear
+"This is good.  I hoped I should find you.  I came down on purpose."  St.
+George was there without a change of dress and with a fine face--his
+graver one--to which our young man all in a flutter responded.  He
+explained that it was only for the Master--the idea of a little talk--that
+he had sat up, and that, not finding him, he had been on the point of
+going to bed.
+
+"Well, you know, I don't smoke--my wife doesn't let me," said St. George,
+looking for a place to sit down.  "It's very good for me--very good for
+me.  Let us take that sofa."
+
+"Do you mean smoking's good for you?"
+
+"No no--her not letting me.  It's a great thing to have a wife who's so
+sure of all the things one can do without.  One might never find them out
+one's self.  She doesn't allow me to touch a cigarette."  They took
+possession of a sofa at a distance from the group of smokers, and St.
+George went on: "Have you got one yourself?"
+
+"Do you mean a cigarette?"
+
+"Dear no--a wife."
+
+"No; and yet I'd give up my cigarette for one."
+
+"You'd give up a good deal more than that," St. George returned.
+"However, you'd get a great deal in return.  There's a something to be
+said for wives," he added, folding his arms and crossing his outstretched
+legs.  He declined tobacco altogether and sat there without returning
+fire.  His companion stopped smoking, touched by his courtesy; and after
+all they were out of the fumes, their sofa was in a far-away corner.  It
+would have been a mistake, St. George went on, a great mistake for them
+to have separated without a little chat; "for I know all about you," he
+said, "I know you're very remarkable.  You've written a very
+distinguished book."
+
+"And how do you know it?" Paul asked.
+
+"Why, my dear fellow, it's in the air, it's in the papers, it's
+everywhere."  St. George spoke with the immediate familiarity of a
+confrere--a tone that seemed to his neighbour the very rustle of the
+laurel.  "You're on all men's lips and, what's better, on all women's.
+And I've just been reading your book."
+
+"Just?  You hadn't read it this afternoon," said Overt.
+
+"How do you know that?"
+
+"I think you should know how I know it," the young man laughed.
+
+"I suppose Miss Fancourt told you."
+
+"No indeed--she led me rather to suppose you had."
+
+"Yes--that's much more what she'd do.  Doesn't she shed a rosy glow over
+life?  But you didn't believe her?" asked St. George.
+
+"No, not when you came to us there."
+
+"Did I pretend? did I pretend badly?"  But without waiting for an answer
+to this St. George went on: "You ought always to believe such a girl as
+that--always, always.  Some women are meant to be taken with allowances
+and reserves; but you must take _her_ just as she is."
+
+"I like her very much," said Paul Overt.
+
+Something in his tone appeared to excite on his companion's part a
+momentary sense of the absurd; perhaps it was the air of deliberation
+attending this judgement.  St. George broke into a laugh to reply.  "It's
+the best thing you can do with her.  She's a rare young lady!  In point
+of fact, however, I confess I hadn't read you this afternoon."
+
+"Then you see how right I was in this particular case not to believe Miss
+Fancourt."
+
+"How right? how can I agree to that when I lost credit by it?"
+
+"Do you wish to pass exactly for what she represents you?  Certainly you
+needn't be afraid," Paul said.
+
+"Ah, my dear young man, don't talk about passing--for the likes of me!
+I'm passing away--nothing else than that.  She has a better use for her
+young imagination (isn't it fine?) than in 'representing' in any way such
+a weary wasted used-up animal!"  The Master spoke with a sudden sadness
+that produced a protest on Paul's part; but before the protest could be
+uttered he went on, reverting to the latter's striking novel: "I had no
+idea you were so good--one hears of so many things.  But you're
+surprisingly good."
+
+"I'm going to be surprisingly better," Overt made bold to reply.
+
+"I see that, and it's what fetches me.  I don't see so much else--as one
+looks about--that's going to be surprisingly better.  They're going to be
+consistently worse--most of the things.  It's so much easier to be
+worse--heaven knows I've found it so.  I'm not in a great glow, you know,
+about what's breaking out all over the place.  But you _must_ be
+better--you really must keep it up.  I haven't of course.  It's very
+difficult--that's the devil of the whole thing, keeping it up.  But I see
+you'll be able to.  It will be a great disgrace if you don't."
+
+"It's very interesting to hear you speak of yourself; but I don't know
+what you mean by your allusions to your having fallen off," Paul Overt
+observed with pardonable hypocrisy.  He liked his companion so much now
+that the fact of any decline of talent or of care had ceased for the
+moment to be vivid to him.
+
+"Don't say that--don't say that," St. George returned gravely, his head
+resting on the top of the sofa-back and his eyes on the ceiling.  "You
+know perfectly what I mean.  I haven't read twenty pages of your book
+without seeing that you can't help it."
+
+"You make me very miserable," Paul ecstatically breathed.
+
+"I'm glad of that, for it may serve as a kind of warning.  Shocking
+enough it must be, especially to a young fresh mind, full of faith--the
+spectacle of a man meant for better things sunk at my age in such
+dishonour."  St. George, in the same contemplative attitude, spoke softly
+but deliberately, and without perceptible emotion.  His tone indeed
+suggested an impersonal lucidity that was practically cruel--cruel to
+himself--and made his young friend lay an argumentative hand on his arm.
+But he went on while his eyes seemed to follow the graces of the
+eighteenth-century ceiling: "Look at me well, take my lesson to heart--for
+it _is_ a lesson.  Let that good come of it at least that you shudder
+with your pitiful impression, and that this may help to keep you straight
+in the future.  Don't become in your old age what I have in mine--the
+depressing, the deplorable illustration of the worship of false gods!"
+
+"What do you mean by your old age?" the young man asked.
+
+"It has made me old.  But I like your youth."
+
+Paul answered nothing--they sat for a minute in silence.  They heard the
+others going on about the governmental majority.  Then "What do you mean
+by false gods?" he enquired.
+
+His companion had no difficulty whatever in saying, "The idols of the
+market; money and luxury and 'the world;' placing one's children and
+dressing one's wife; everything that drives one to the short and easy
+way.  Ah the vile things they make one do!"
+
+"But surely one's right to want to place one's children."
+
+"One has no business to have any children," St. George placidly declared.
+"I mean of course if one wants to do anything good."
+
+"But aren't they an inspiration--an incentive?"
+
+"An incentive to damnation, artistically speaking."
+
+"You touch on very deep things--things I should like to discuss with
+you," Paul said.  "I should like you to tell me volumes about yourself.
+This is a great feast for _me_!"
+
+"Of course it is, cruel youth.  But to show you I'm still not incapable,
+degraded as I am, of an act of faith, I'll tie my vanity to the stake for
+you and burn it to ashes.  You must come and see me--you must come and
+see us," the Master quickly substituted.  "Mrs. St. George is charming; I
+don't know whether you've had any opportunity to talk with her.  She'll
+be delighted to see you; she likes great celebrities, whether incipient
+or predominant.  You must come and dine--my wife will write to you.  Where
+are you to be found?"
+
+"This is my little address"--and Overt drew out his pocketbook and
+extracted a visiting-card.  On second thoughts, however, he kept it back,
+remarking that he wouldn't trouble his friend to take charge of it but
+would come and see him straightway in London and leave it at his door if
+he should fail to obtain entrance.
+
+"Ah you'll probably fail; my wife's always out--or when she isn't out is
+knocked up from having been out.  You must come and dine--though that
+won't do much good either, for my wife insists on big dinners."  St.
+George turned it over further, but then went on: "You must come down and
+see us in the country, that's the best way; we've plenty of room, and it
+isn't bad."
+
+"You've a house in the country?" Paul asked enviously.
+
+"Ah not like this!  But we have a sort of place we go to--an hour from
+Euston.  That's one of the reasons."
+
+"One of the reasons?"
+
+"Why my books are so bad."
+
+"You must tell me all the others!" Paul longingly laughed.
+
+His friend made no direct rejoinder to this, but spoke again abruptly.
+"Why have I never seen you before?"
+
+The tone of the question was singularly flattering to our hero, who felt
+it to imply the great man's now perceiving he had for years missed
+something.  "Partly, I suppose, because there has been no particular
+reason why you should see me.  I haven't lived in the world--in your
+world.  I've spent many years out of England, in different places
+abroad."
+
+"Well, please don't do it any more.  You must do England--there's such a
+lot of it."
+
+"Do you mean I must write about it?" and Paul struck the note of the
+listening candour of a child.
+
+"Of course you must.  And tremendously well, do you mind?  That takes off
+a little of my esteem for this thing of yours--that it goes on abroad.
+Hang 'abroad!'  Stay at home and do things here--do subjects we can
+measure."
+
+"I'll do whatever you tell me," Overt said, deeply attentive.  "But
+pardon me if I say I don't understand how you've been reading my book,"
+he added.  "I've had you before me all the afternoon, first in that long
+walk, then at tea on the lawn, till we went to dress for dinner, and all
+the evening at dinner and in this place."
+
+St. George turned his face about with a smile.  "I gave it but a quarter
+of an hour."
+
+"A quarter of an hour's immense, but I don't understand where you put it
+in.  In the drawing-room after dinner you weren't reading--you were
+talking to Miss Fancourt."
+
+"It comes to the same thing, because we talked about 'Ginistrella.'  She
+described it to me--she lent me her copy."
+
+"Lent it to you?"
+
+"She travels with it."
+
+"It's incredible," Paul blushed.
+
+"It's glorious for you, but it also turned out very well for me.  When
+the ladies went off to bed she kindly offered to send the book down to
+me.  Her maid brought it to me in the hall and I went to my room with it.
+I hadn't thought of coming here, I do that so little.  But I don't sleep
+early, I always have to read an hour or two.  I sat down to your novel on
+the spot, without undressing, without taking off anything but my coat.  I
+think that's a sign my curiosity had been strongly roused about it.  I
+read a quarter of an hour, as I tell you, and even in a quarter of an
+hour I was greatly struck."
+
+"Ah the beginning isn't very good--it's the whole thing!" said Overt, who
+had listened to this recital with extreme interest.  "And you laid down
+the book and came after me?" he asked.
+
+"That's the way it moved me.  I said to myself 'I see it's off his own
+bat, and he's there, by the way, and the day's over and I haven't said
+twenty words to him.'  It occurred to me that you'd probably be in the
+smoking-room and that it wouldn't be too late to repair my omission.  I
+wanted to do something civil to you, so I put on my coat and came down.  I
+shall read your book again when I go up."
+
+Our friend faced round in his place--he was touched as he had scarce ever
+been by the picture of such a demonstration in his favour.  "You're
+really the kindest of men.  Cela s'est passe comme ca?--and I've been
+sitting here with you all this time and never apprehended it and never
+thanked you!"
+
+"Thank Miss Fancourt--it was she who wound me up.  She has made me feel
+as if I had read your novel."
+
+"She's an angel from heaven!" Paul declared.
+
+"She is indeed.  I've never seen any one like her.  Her interest in
+literature's touching--something quite peculiar to herself; she takes it
+all so seriously.  She feels the arts and she wants to feel them more.  To
+those who practise them it's almost humiliating--her curiosity, her
+sympathy, her good faith.  How can anything be as fine as she supposes
+it?"
+
+"She's a rare organisation," the younger man sighed.
+
+"The richest I've ever seen--an artistic intelligence really of the first
+order.  And lodged in such a form!" St. George exclaimed.
+
+"One would like to represent such a girl as that," Paul continued.
+
+"Ah there it is--there's nothing like life!" said his companion.  "When
+you're finished, squeezed dry and used up and you think the sack's empty,
+you're still appealed to, you still get touches and thrills, the idea
+springs up--out of the lap of the actual--and shows you there's always
+something to be done.  But I shan't do it--she's not for me!"
+
+"How do you mean, not for you?"
+
+"Oh it's all over--she's for you, if you like."
+
+"Ah much less!" said Paul.  "She's not for a dingy little man of letters;
+she's for the world, the bright rich world of bribes and rewards.  And
+the world will take hold of her--it will carry her away."
+
+"It will try--but it's just a case in which there may be a fight.  It
+would be worth fighting, for a man who had it in him, with youth and
+talent on his side."
+
+These words rang not a little in Paul Overt's consciousness--they held
+him briefly silent.  "It's a wonder she has remained as she is; giving
+herself away so--with so much to give away."
+
+"Remaining, you mean, so ingenuous--so natural?  Oh she doesn't care a
+straw--she gives away because she overflows.  She has her own feelings,
+her own standards; she doesn't keep remembering that she must be proud.
+And then she hasn't been here long enough to be spoiled; she has picked
+up a fashion or two, but only the amusing ones.  She's a provincial--a
+provincial of genius," St. George went on; "her very blunders are
+charming, her mistakes are interesting.  She has come back from Asia with
+all sorts of excited curiosities and unappeased appetities.  She's first-
+rate herself and she expends herself on the second-rate.  She's life
+herself and she takes a rare interest in imitations.  She mixes all
+things up, but there are none in regard to which she hasn't perceptions.
+She sees things in a perspective--as if from the top of the Himalayas--and
+she enlarges everything she touches.  Above all she exaggerates--to
+herself, I mean.  She exaggerates you and me!"
+
+There was nothing in that description to allay the agitation caused in
+our younger friend by such a sketch of a fine subject.  It seemed to him
+to show the art of St. George's admired hand, and he lost himself in
+gazing at the vision--this hovered there before him--of a woman's figure
+which should be part of the glory of a novel.  But at the end of a moment
+the thing had turned into smoke, and out of the smoke--the last puff of a
+big cigar--proceeded the voice of General Fancourt, who had left the
+others and come and planted himself before the gentlemen on the sofa.  "I
+suppose that when you fellows get talking you sit up half the night."
+
+"Half the night?--jamais de la vie!  I follow a hygiene"--and St. George
+rose to his feet.
+
+"I see--you're hothouse plants," laughed the General.  "That's the way
+you produce your flowers."
+
+"I produce mine between ten and one every morning--I bloom with a
+regularity!" St. George went on.
+
+"And with a splendour!" added the polite General, while Paul noted how
+little the author of "Shadowmere" minded, as he phrased it to himself,
+when addressed as a celebrated story-teller.  The young man had an idea
+_he_ should never get used to that; it would always make him
+uncomfortable--from the suspicion that people would think they had to--and
+he would want to prevent it.  Evidently his great colleague had toughened
+and hardened--had made himself a surface.  The group of men had finished
+their cigars and taken up their bedroom candlesticks; but before they all
+passed out Lord Watermouth invited the pair of guests who had been so
+absorbed together to "have" something.  It happened that they both
+declined; upon which General Fancourt said: "Is that the hygiene?  You
+don't water the flowers?"
+
+"Oh I should drown them!" St. George replied; but, leaving the room still
+at his young friend's side, he added whimsically, for the latter's
+benefit, in a lower tone: "My wife doesn't let me."
+
+"Well I'm glad I'm not one of you fellows!" the General richly concluded.
+
+The nearness of Summersoft to London had this consequence, chilling to a
+person who had had a vision of sociability in a railway-carriage, that
+most of the company, after breakfast, drove back to town, entering their
+own vehicles, which had come out to fetch them, while their servants
+returned by train with their luggage.  Three or four young men, among
+whom was Paul Overt, also availed themselves of the common convenience;
+but they stood in the portico of the house and saw the others roll away.
+Miss Fancourt got into a victoria with her father after she had shaken
+hands with our hero and said, smiling in the frankest way in the world,
+"I _must_ see you more.  Mrs. St. George is so nice: she has promised to
+ask us both to dinner together."  This lady and her husband took their
+places in a perfectly-appointed brougham--she required a closed
+carriage--and as our young man waved his hat to them in response to their
+nods and flourishes he reflected that, taken together, they were an
+honourable image of success, of the material rewards and the social
+credit of literature.  Such things were not the full measure, but he
+nevertheless felt a little proud for literature.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Before a week had elapsed he met Miss Fancourt in Bond Street, at a
+private view of the works of a young artist in "black-and-white" who had
+been so good as to invite him to the stuffy scene.  The drawings were
+admirable, but the crowd in the one little room was so dense that he felt
+himself up to his neck in a sack of wool.  A fringe of people at the
+outer edge endeavoured by curving forward their backs and presenting,
+below them, a still more convex surface of resistance to the pressure of
+the mass, to preserve an interval between their noses and the glazed
+mounts of the pictures; while the central body, in the comparative gloom
+projected by a wide horizontal screen hung under the skylight and
+allowing only a margin for the day, remained upright dense and vague,
+lost in the contemplation of its own ingredients.  This contemplation sat
+especially in the sad eyes of certain female heads, surmounted with hats
+of strange convolution and plumage, which rose on long necks above the
+others.  One of the heads Paul perceived, was much the so most beautiful
+of the collection, and his next discovery was that it belonged to Miss
+Fancourt.  Its beauty was enhanced by the glad smile she sent him across
+surrounding obstructions, a smile that drew him to her as fast as he
+could make his way.  He had seen for himself at Summersoft that the last
+thing her nature contained was an affectation of indifference; yet even
+with this circumspection he took a fresh satisfaction in her not having
+pretended to await his arrival with composure.  She smiled as radiantly
+as if she wished to make him hurry, and as soon as he came within earshot
+she broke out in her voice of joy: "He's here--he's here--he's coming
+back in a moment!"
+
+"Ah your father?" Paul returned as she offered him her hand.
+
+"Oh dear no, this isn't in my poor father's line.  I mean Mr. St. George.
+He has just left me to speak to some one--he's coming back.  It's he who
+brought me--wasn't it charming?"
+
+"Ah that gives him a pull over me--I couldn't have 'brought' you, could
+I?"
+
+"If you had been so kind as to propose it--why not you as well as he?"
+the girl returned with a face that, expressing no cheap coquetry, simply
+affirmed a happy fact.
+
+"Why he's a pere de famille.  They've privileges," Paul explained.  And
+then quickly: "Will you go to see places with _me_?" he asked.
+
+"Anything you like!" she smiled.  "I know what you mean, that girls have
+to have a lot of people--"  Then she broke off: "I don't know; I'm free.
+I've always been like that--I can go about with any one.  I'm so glad to
+meet you," she added with a sweet distinctness that made those near her
+turn round.
+
+"Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of this squash," her
+friend said.  "Surely people aren't happy here!"
+
+"No, they're awfully mornes, aren't they?  But I'm very happy indeed and
+I promised Mr. St. George to remain in this spot till he comes back.  He's
+going to take me away.  They send him invitations for things of this
+sort--more than he wants.  It was so kind of him to think of me."
+
+"They also send me invitations of this kind--more than _I_ want.  And if
+thinking of _you_ will do it--!" Paul went on.
+
+"Oh I delight in them--everything that's life--everything that's London!"
+
+"They don't have private views in Asia, I suppose," he laughed.  "But
+what a pity that for this year, even in this gorged city, they're pretty
+well over."
+
+"Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we're going to be
+friends always.  Here he comes!" Miss Fancourt continued before Paul had
+time to respond.
+
+He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps led to
+his hurrying a little to say: "I hope that doesn't mean I'm to wait till
+next year to see you."
+
+"No, no--aren't we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?" she panted
+with an eagerness as happy as his own.
+
+"That's almost next year.  Is there no means of seeing you before?"
+
+She stared with all her brightness.  "Do you mean you'd _come_?"
+
+"Like a shot, if you'll be so good as to ask me!"
+
+"On Sunday then--this next Sunday?"
+
+"What have I done that you should doubt it?" the young man asked with
+delight.
+
+Miss Fancourt turned instantly to St. George, who had now joined them,
+and announced triumphantly: "He's coming on Sunday--this next Sunday!"
+
+"Ah my day--my day too!" said the famous novelist, laughing, to their
+companion.
+
+"Yes, but not yours only.  You shall meet in Manchester Square; you shall
+talk--you shall be wonderful!"
+
+"We don't meet often enough," St. George allowed, shaking hands with his
+disciple.  "Too many things--ah too many things!  But we must make it up
+in the country in September.  You won't forget you've promised me that?"
+
+"Why he's coming on the twenty-fifth--you'll see him then," said the
+girl.
+
+"On the twenty-fifth?" St. George asked vaguely.
+
+"We dine with you; I hope you haven't forgotten.  He's dining out that
+day," she added gaily to Paul.
+
+"Oh bless me, yes--that's charming!  And you're coming?  My wife didn't
+tell me," St. George said to him.  "Too many things--too many things!" he
+repeated.
+
+"Too many people--too many people!" Paul exclaimed, giving ground before
+the penetration of an elbow.
+
+"You oughtn't to say that.  They all read you."
+
+"Me?  I should like to see them!  Only two or three at most," the young
+man returned.
+
+"Did you ever hear anything like that?  He knows, haughtily, how good he
+is!" St. George declared, laughing to Miss Fancourt.  "They read _me_,
+but that doesn't make me like them any better.  Come away from them, come
+away!"  And he led the way out of the exhibition.
+
+"He's going to take me to the Park," Miss Fancourt observed to Overt with
+elation as they passed along the corridor that led to the street.
+
+"Ah does he go there?" Paul asked, taking the fact for a somewhat
+unexpected illustration of St. George's moeurs.
+
+"It's a beautiful day--there'll be a great crowd.  We're going to look at
+the people, to look at types," the girl went on.  "We shall sit under the
+trees; we shall walk by the Row."
+
+"I go once a year--on business," said St. George, who had overheard
+Paul's question.
+
+"Or with a country cousin, didn't you tell me?  I'm the country cousin!"
+she continued over her shoulder to Paul as their friend drew her toward a
+hansom to which he had signalled.  The young man watched them get in; he
+returned, as he stood there, the friendly wave of the hand with which,
+ensconced in the vehicle beside her, St. George took leave of him.  He
+even lingered to see the vehicle start away and lose itself in the
+confusion of Bond Street.  He followed it with his eyes; it put to him
+embarrassing things.  "She's not for _me_!" the great novelist had said
+emphatically at Summersoft; but his manner of conducting himself toward
+her appeared not quite in harmony with such a conviction.  How could he
+have behaved differently if she _had_ been for him?  An indefinite envy
+rose in Paul Overt's heart as he took his way on foot alone; a feeling
+addressed alike strangely enough, to each of the occupants of the hansom.
+How much he should like to rattle about London with such a girl!  How
+much he should like to go and look at "types" with St. George!
+
+The next Sunday at four o'clock he called in Manchester Square, where his
+secret wish was gratified by his finding Miss Fancourt alone.  She was in
+a large bright friendly occupied room, which was painted red all over,
+draped with the quaint cheap florid stuffs that are represented as coming
+from southern and eastern countries, where they are fabled to serve as
+the counterpanes of the peasantry, and bedecked with pottery of vivid
+hues, ranged on casual shelves, and with many water-colour drawings from
+the hand (as the visitor learned) of the young lady herself,
+commemorating with a brave breadth the sunsets, the mountains, the
+temples and palaces of India.  He sat an hour--more than an hour, two
+hours--and all the while no one came in.  His hostess was so good as to
+remark, with her liberal humanity, that it was delightful they weren't
+interrupted; it was so rare in London, especially at that season, that
+people got a good talk.  But luckily now, of a fine Sunday, half the
+world went out of town, and that made it better for those who didn't go,
+when these others were in sympathy.  It was the defect of London--one of
+two or three, the very short list of those she recognised in the teeming
+world-city she adored--that there were too few good chances for talk; you
+never had time to carry anything far.
+
+"Too many things--too many things!" Paul said, quoting St. George's
+exclamation of a few days before.
+
+"Ah yes, for him there are too many--his life's too complicated."
+
+"Have you seen it _near_?  That's what I should like to do; it might
+explain some mysteries," her visitor went on.  She asked him what
+mysteries he meant, and he said: "Oh peculiarities of his work,
+inequalities, superficialities.  For one who looks at it from the
+artistic point of view it contains a bottomless ambiguity."
+
+She became at this, on the spot, all intensity.  "Ah do describe that
+more--it's so interesting.  There are no such suggestive questions.  I'm
+so fond of them.  He thinks he's a failure--fancy!" she beautifully
+wailed.
+
+"That depends on what his ideal may have been.  With his gifts it ought
+to have been high.  But till one knows what he really proposed to
+himself--?  Do _you_ know by chance?" the young man broke off.
+
+"Oh he doesn't talk to me about himself.  I can't make him.  It's too
+provoking."
+
+Paul was on the point of asking what then he did talk about, but
+discretion checked it and he said instead: "Do you think he's unhappy at
+home?"
+
+She seemed to wonder.  "At home?"
+
+"I mean in his relations with his wife.  He has a mystifying little way
+of alluding to her."
+
+"Not to me," said Marian Fancourt with her clear eyes.  "That wouldn't be
+right, would it?" she asked gravely.
+
+"Not particularly; so I'm glad he doesn't mention her to you.  To praise
+her might bore you, and he has no business to do anything else.  Yet he
+knows you better than me."
+
+"Ah but he respects _you_!" the girl cried as with envy.
+
+Her visitor stared a moment, then broke into a laugh.  "Doesn't he
+respect you?"
+
+"Of course, but not in the same way.  He respects what you've done--he
+told me so, the other day."
+
+Paul drank it in, but retained his faculties.  "When you went to look at
+types?"
+
+"Yes--we found so many: he has such an observation of them!  He talked a
+great deal about your book.  He says it's really important."
+
+"Important!  Ah the grand creature!"--and the author of the work in
+question groaned for joy.
+
+"He was wonderfully amusing, he was inexpressibly droll, while we walked
+about.  He sees everything; he has so many comparisons and images, and
+they're always exactly right.  C'est d'un trouve, as they say."
+
+"Yes, with his gifts, such things as he ought to have done!" Paul sighed.
+
+"And don't you think he _has_ done them?"
+
+Ah it was just the point.  "A part of them, and of course even that
+part's immense.  But he might have been one of the greatest.  However,
+let us not make this an hour of qualifications.  Even as they stand," our
+friend earnestly concluded, "his writings are a mine of gold."
+
+To this proposition she ardently responded, and for half an hour the pair
+talked over the Master's principal productions.  She knew them well--she
+knew them even better than her visitor, who was struck with her critical
+intelligence and with something large and bold in the movement in her
+mind.  She said things that startled him and that evidently had come to
+her directly; they weren't picked-up phrases--she placed them too well.
+St. George had been right about her being first-rate, about her not being
+afraid to gush, not remembering that she must be proud.  Suddenly
+something came back to her, and she said: "I recollect that he did speak
+of Mrs. St. George to me once.  He said, apropos of something or other,
+that she didn't care for perfection."
+
+"That's a great crime in an artist's wife," Paul returned.
+
+"Yes, poor thing!" and the girl sighed with a suggestion of many
+reflexions, some of them mitigating.  But she presently added: "Ah
+perfection, perfection--how one ought to go in for it!  I wish _I_
+could."
+
+"Every one can in his way," her companion opined.
+
+"In _his_ way, yes--but not in hers.  Women are so hampered--so
+condemned!  Yet it's a kind of dishonour if you don't, when you want to
+_do_ something, isn't it?"  Miss Fancourt pursued, dropping one train in
+her quickness to take up another, an accident that was common with her.
+So these two young persons sat discussing high themes in their eclectic
+drawing-room, in their London "season"--discussing, with extreme
+seriousness, the high theme of perfection.  It must be said in
+extenuation of this eccentricity that they were interested in the
+business.  Their tone had truth and their emotion beauty; they weren't
+posturing for each other or for some one else.
+
+The subject was so wide that they found themselves reducing it; the
+perfection to which for the moment they agreed to confine their
+speculations was that of the valid, the exemplary work of art.  Our young
+woman's imagination, it appeared, had wandered far in that direction, and
+her guest had the rare delight of feeling in their conversation a full
+interchange.  This episode will have lived for years in his memory and
+even in his wonder; it had the quality that fortune distils in a single
+drop at a time--the quality that lubricates many ensuing frictions.  He
+still, whenever he likes, has a vision of the room, the bright red
+sociable talkative room with the curtains that, by a stroke of successful
+audacity, had the note of vivid blue.  He remembers where certain things
+stood, the particular book open on the table and the almost intense odour
+of the flowers placed, at the left, somewhere behind him.  These facts
+were the fringe, as it were, of a fine special agitation which had its
+birth in those two hours and of which perhaps the main sign was in its
+leading him inwardly and repeatedly to breathe "I had no idea there was
+any one like this--I had no idea there was any one like this!"  Her
+freedom amazed him and charmed him--it seemed so to simplify the
+practical question.  She was on the footing of an independent personage--a
+motherless girl who had passed out of her teens and had a position and
+responsibilities, who wasn't held down to the limitations of a little
+miss.  She came and went with no dragged duenna, she received people
+alone, and, though she was totally without hardness, the question of
+protection or patronage had no relevancy in regard to her.  She gave such
+an impression of the clear and the noble combined with the easy and the
+natural that in spite of her eminent modern situation she suggested no
+sort of sister-hood with the "fast" girl.  Modern she was indeed, and
+made Paul Overt, who loved old colour, the golden glaze of time, think
+with some alarm of the muddled palette of the future.  He couldn't get
+used to her interest in the arts he cared for; it seemed too good to be
+real--it was so unlikely an adventure to tumble into such a well of
+sympathy.  One might stray into the desert easily--that was on the cards
+and that was the law of life; but it was too rare an accident to stumble
+on a crystal well.  Yet if her aspirations seemed at one moment too
+extravagant to be real they struck him at the next as too intelligent to
+be false.  They were both high and lame, and, whims for whims, he
+preferred them to any he had met in a like relation.  It was probable
+enough she would leave them behind--exchange them for politics or
+"smartness" or mere prolific maternity, as was the custom of scribbling
+daubing educated flattered girls in an age of luxury and a society of
+leisure.  He noted that the water-colours on the walls of the room she
+sat in had mainly the quality of being naives, and reflected that naivete
+in art is like a zero in a number: its importance depends on the figure
+it is united with.  Meanwhile, however, he had fallen in love with her.
+Before he went away, at any rate, he said to her: "I thought St. George
+was coming to see you to-day, but he doesn't turn up."
+
+For a moment he supposed she was going to cry "Comment donc?  Did you
+come here only to meet him?"  But the next he became aware of how little
+such a speech would have fallen in with any note of flirtation he had as
+yet perceived in her.  She only replied: "Ah yes, but I don't think he'll
+come.  He recommended me not to expect him."  Then she gaily but all
+gently added: "He said it wasn't fair to you.  But I think I could manage
+two."
+
+"So could I," Paul Overt returned, stretching the point a little to meet
+her.  In reality his appreciation of the occasion was so completely an
+appreciation of the woman before him that another figure in the scene,
+even so esteemed a one as St. George, might for the hour have appealed to
+him vainly.  He left the house wondering what the great man had meant by
+its not being fair to him; and, still more than that, whether he had
+actually stayed away from the force of that idea.  As he took his course
+through the Sunday solitude of Manchester Square, swinging his stick and
+with a good deal of emotion fermenting in his soul, it appeared to him he
+was living in a world strangely magnanimous.  Miss Fancourt had told him
+it was possible she should be away, and that her father should be, on the
+following Sunday, but that she had the hope of a visit from him in the
+other event.  She promised to let him know should their absence fail, and
+then he might act accordingly.  After he had passed into one of the
+streets that open from the Square he stopped, without definite
+intentions, looking sceptically for a cab.  In a moment he saw a hansom
+roll through the place from the other side and come a part of the way
+toward him.  He was on the point of hailing the driver when he noticed a
+"fare" within; then he waited, seeing the man prepare to deposit his
+passenger by pulling up at one of the houses.  The house was apparently
+the one he himself had just quitted; at least he drew that inference as
+he recognised Henry St. George in the person who stepped out of the
+hansom.  Paul turned off as quickly as if he had been caught in the act
+of spying.  He gave up his cab--he preferred to walk; he would go nowhere
+else.  He was glad St. George hadn't renounced his visit altogether--that
+would have been too absurd.  Yes, the world was magnanimous, and even he
+himself felt so as, on looking at his watch, he noted but six o'clock, so
+that he could mentally congratulate his successor on having an hour still
+to sit in Miss Fancourt's drawing-room.  He himself might use that hour
+for another visit, but by the time he reached the Marble Arch the idea of
+such a course had become incongruous to him.  He passed beneath that
+architectural effort and walked into the Park till he got upon the
+spreading grass.  Here he continued to walk; he took his way across the
+elastic turf and came out by the Serpentine.  He watched with a friendly
+eye the diversions of the London people, he bent a glance almost
+encouraging on the young ladies paddling their sweethearts about the lake
+and the guardsmen tickling tenderly with their bearskins the artificial
+flowers in the Sunday hats of their partners.  He prolonged his
+meditative walk; he went into Kensington Gardens, he sat upon the penny
+chairs, he looked at the little sail-boats launched upon the round pond
+and was glad he had no engagement to dine.  He repaired for this purpose,
+very late, to his club, where he found himself unable to order a repast
+and told the waiter to bring whatever there was.  He didn't even observe
+what he was served with, and he spent the evening in the library of the
+establishment, pretending to read an article in an American magazine.  He
+failed to discover what it was about; it appeared in a dim way to be
+about Marian Fancourt.
+
+Quite late in the week she wrote to him that she was not to go into the
+country--it had only just been settled.  Her father, she added, would
+never settle anything, but put it all on her.  She felt her
+responsibility--she had to--and since she was forced this was the way she
+had decided.  She mentioned no reasons, which gave our friend all the
+clearer field for bold conjecture about them.  In Manchester Square on
+this second Sunday he esteemed his fortune less good, for she had three
+or four other visitors.  But there were three or four compensations;
+perhaps the greatest of which was that, learning how her father had after
+all, at the last hour, gone out of town alone, the bold conjecture I just
+now spoke of found itself becoming a shade more bold.  And then her
+presence was her presence, and the personal red room was there and was
+full of it, whatever phantoms passed and vanished, emitting
+incomprehensible sounds.  Lastly, he had the resource of staying till
+every one had come and gone and of believing this grateful to her, though
+she gave no particular sign.  When they were alone together he came to
+his point.  "But St. George did come--last Sunday.  I saw him as I looked
+back."
+
+"Yes; but it was the last time."
+
+"The last time?"
+
+"He said he would never come again."
+
+Paul Overt stared.  "Does he mean he wishes to cease to see you?"
+
+"I don't know what he means," the girl bravely smiled.  "He won't at any
+rate see me here."
+
+"And pray why not?"
+
+"I haven't the least idea," said Marian Fancourt, whose visitor found her
+more perversely sublime than ever yet as she professed this clear
+helplessness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+"Oh I say, I want you to stop a little," Henry St. George said to him at
+eleven o'clock the night he dined with the head of the profession.  The
+company--none of it indeed _of_ the profession--had been numerous and was
+taking its leave; our young man, after bidding good-night to his hostess,
+had put out his hand in farewell to the master of the house.  Besides
+drawing from the latter the protest I have cited this movement provoked a
+further priceless word about their chance now to have a talk, their going
+into his room, his having still everything to say.  Paul Overt was all
+delight at this kindness; nevertheless he mentioned in weak jocose
+qualification the bare fact that he had promised to go to another place
+which was at a considerable distance.
+
+"Well then you'll break your promise, that's all.  You quite awful
+humbug!" St. George added in a tone that confirmed our young man's ease.
+
+"Certainly I'll break it--but it was a real promise."
+
+"Do you mean to Miss Fancourt?  You're following her?" his friend asked.
+
+He answered by a question.  "Oh is _she_ going?"
+
+"Base impostor!" his ironic host went on.  "I've treated you handsomely
+on the article of that young lady: I won't make another concession.  Wait
+three minutes--I'll be with you."  He gave himself to his departing
+guests, accompanied the long-trained ladies to the door.  It was a hot
+night, the windows were open, the sound of the quick carriages and of the
+linkmen's call came into the house.  The affair had rather glittered; a
+sense of festal things was in the heavy air: not only the influence of
+that particular entertainment, but the suggestion of the wide hurry of
+pleasure which in London on summer nights fills so many of the happier
+quarters of the complicated town.  Gradually Mrs. St. George's drawing-
+room emptied itself; Paul was left alone with his hostess, to whom he
+explained the motive of his waiting.  "Ah yes, some intellectual, some
+_professional_, talk," she leered; "at this season doesn't one miss it?
+Poor dear Henry, I'm so glad!"  The young man looked out of the window a
+moment, at the called hansoms that lurched up, at the smooth broughams
+that rolled away.  When he turned round Mrs. St. George had disappeared;
+her husband's voice rose to him from below--he was laughing and talking,
+in the portico, with some lady who awaited her carriage.  Paul had
+solitary possession, for some minutes, of the warm deserted rooms where
+the covered tinted lamplight was soft, the seats had been pushed about
+and the odour of flowers lingered.  They were large, they were pretty,
+they contained objects of value; everything in the picture told of a
+"good house."  At the end of five minutes a servant came in with a
+request from the Master that he would join him downstairs; upon which,
+descending, he followed his conductor through a long passage to an
+apartment thrown out, in the rear of the habitation, for the special
+requirements, as he guessed, of a busy man of letters.
+
+St. George was in his shirt-sleeves in the middle of a large high room--a
+room without windows, but with a wide skylight at the top, that of a
+place of exhibition.  It was furnished as a library, and the serried
+bookshelves rose to the ceiling, a surface of incomparable tone produced
+by dimly-gilt "backs" interrupted here and there by the suspension of old
+prints and drawings.  At the end furthest from the door of admission was
+a tall desk, of great extent, at which the person using it could write
+only in the erect posture of a clerk in a counting-house; and stretched
+from the entrance to this structure was a wide plain band of crimson
+cloth, as straight as a garden-path and almost as long, where, in his
+mind's eye, Paul at once beheld the Master pace to and fro during vexed
+hours--hours, that is, of admirable composition.  The servant gave him a
+coat, an old jacket with a hang of experience, from a cupboard in the
+wall, retiring afterwards with the garment he had taken off.  Paul Overt
+welcomed the coat; it was a coat for talk, it promised confidences--having
+visibly received so many--and had tragic literary elbows.  "Ah we're
+practical--we're practical!" St. George said as he saw his visitor look
+the place over.  "Isn't it a good big cage for going round and round?  My
+wife invented it and she locks me up here every morning."
+
+Our young man breathed--by way of tribute--with a certain oppression.
+"You don't miss a window--a place to look out?"
+
+"I did at first awfully; but her calculation was just.  It saves time, it
+has saved me many months in these ten years.  Here I stand, under the eye
+of day--in London of course, very often, it's rather a bleared old
+eye--walled in to my trade.  I can't get away--so the room's a fine
+lesson in concentration.  I've learnt the lesson, I think; look at that
+big bundle of proof and acknowledge it."  He pointed to a fat roll of
+papers, on one of the tables, which had not been undone.
+
+"Are you bringing out another--?" Paul asked in a tone the fond
+deficiencies of which he didn't recognise till his companion burst out
+laughing, and indeed scarce even then.
+
+"You humbug, you humbug!"--St. George appeared to enjoy caressing him, as
+it were, with that opprobrium.  "Don't I know what you think of them?" he
+asked, standing there with his hands in his pockets and with a new kind
+of smile.  It was as if he were going to let his young votary see him all
+now.
+
+"Upon my word in that case you know more than I do!" the latter ventured
+to respond, revealing a part of the torment of being able neither clearly
+to esteem nor distinctly to renounce him.
+
+"My dear fellow," said the more and more interesting Master, "don't
+imagine I talk about my books specifically; they're not a decent
+subject--il ne manquerait plus que ca!  I'm not so bad as you may
+apprehend!  About myself, yes, a little, if you like; though it wasn't
+for that I brought you down here.  I want to ask you something--very much
+indeed; I value this chance.  Therefore sit down.  We're practical, but
+there _is_ a sofa, you see--for she does humour my poor bones so far.
+Like all really great administrators and disciplinarians she knows when
+wisely to relax."  Paul sank into the corner of a deep leathern couch,
+but his friend remained standing and explanatory.  "If you don't mind, in
+this room, this is my habit.  From the door to the desk and from the desk
+to the door.  That shakes up my imagination gently; and don't you see
+what a good thing it is that there's no window for her to fly out of?  The
+eternal standing as I write (I stop at that bureau and put it down, when
+anything comes, and so we go on) was rather wearisome at first, but we
+adopted it with an eye to the long run; you're in better order--if your
+legs don't break down!--and you can keep it up for more years.  Oh we're
+practical--we're practical!" St. George repeated, going to the table and
+taking up all mechanically the bundle of proofs.  But, pulling off the
+wrapper, he had a change of attention that appealed afresh to our hero.
+He lost himself a moment, examining the sheets of his new book, while the
+younger man's eyes wandered over the room again.
+
+"Lord, what good things I should do if I had such a charming place as
+this to do them in!" Paul reflected.  The outer world, the world of
+accident and ugliness, was so successfully excluded, and within the rich
+protecting square, beneath the patronising sky, the dream-figures, the
+summoned company, could hold their particular revel.  It was a fond
+prevision of Overt's rather than an observation on actual data, for which
+occasions had been too few, that the Master thus more closely viewed
+would have the quality, the charming gift, of flashing out, all
+surprisingly, in personal intercourse and at moments of suspended or
+perhaps even of diminished expectation.  A happy relation with him would
+be a thing proceeding by jumps, not by traceable stages.
+
+"Do you read them--really?" he asked, laying down the proofs on Paul's
+enquiring of him how soon the work would be published.  And when the
+young man answered "Oh yes, always," he was moved to mirth again by
+something he caught in his manner of saying that.  "You go to see your
+grandmother on her birthday--and very proper it is, especially as she
+won't last for ever.  She has lost every faculty and every sense; she
+neither sees, nor hears, nor speaks; but all customary pieties and kindly
+habits are respectable.  Only you're strong if you _do_ read 'em!  _I_
+couldn't, my dear fellow.  You are strong, I know; and that's just a part
+of what I wanted to say to you.  You're very strong indeed.  I've been
+going into your other things--they've interested me immensely.  Some one
+ought to have told me about them before--some one I could believe.  But
+whom can one believe?  You're wonderfully on the right road--it's awfully
+decent work.  Now do you mean to keep it up?--that's what I want to ask
+you."
+
+"Do I mean to do others?" Paul asked, looking up from his sofa at his
+erect inquisitor and feeling partly like a happy little boy when the
+school-master is gay, and partly like some pilgrim of old who might have
+consulted a world-famous oracle.  St. George's own performance had been
+infirm, but as an adviser he would be infallible.
+
+"Others--others?  Ah the number won't matter; one other would do, if it
+were really a further step--a throb of the same effort.  What I mean is
+have you it in your heart to go in for some sort of decent perfection?"
+
+"Ah decency, ah perfection--!" the young man sincerely sighed.  "I talked
+of them the other Sunday with Miss Fancourt."
+
+It produced on the Master's part a laugh of odd acrimony.  "Yes, they'll
+'talk' of them as much as you like!  But they'll do little to help one to
+them.  There's no obligation of course; only you strike me as capable,"
+he went on.  "You must have thought it all over.  I can't believe you're
+without a plan.  That's the sensation you give me, and it's so rare that
+it really stirs one up--it makes you remarkable.  If you haven't a plan,
+if you _don't_ mean to keep it up, surely you're within your rights; it's
+nobody's business, no one can force you, and not more than two or three
+people will notice you don't go straight.  The others--_all_ the rest,
+every blest soul in England, will think you do--will think you are
+keeping it up: upon my honour they will!  I shall be one of the two or
+three who know better.  Now the question is whether you can do it for two
+or three.  Is that the stuff you're made of?"
+
+It locked his guest a minute as in closed throbbing arms.  "I could do it
+for one, if you were the one."
+
+"Don't say that; I don't deserve it; it scorches me," he protested with
+eyes suddenly grave and glowing.  "The 'one' is of course one's self,
+one's conscience, one's idea, the singleness of one's aim.  I think of
+that pure spirit as a man thinks of a woman he has in some detested hour
+of his youth loved and forsaken.  She haunts him with reproachful eyes,
+she lives for ever before him.  As an artist, you know, I've married for
+money."  Paul stared and even blushed a little, confounded by this
+avowal; whereupon his host, observing the expression of his face, dropped
+a quick laugh and pursued: "You don't follow my figure.  I'm not speaking
+of my dear wife, who had a small fortune--which, however, was not my
+bribe.  I fell in love with her, as many other people have done.  I refer
+to the mercenary muse whom I led to the altar of literature.  Don't, my
+boy, put your nose into _that_ yoke.  The awful jade will lead you a
+life!"
+
+Our hero watched him, wondering and deeply touched.  "Haven't you been
+happy!"
+
+"Happy?  It's a kind of hell."
+
+"There are things I should like to ask you," Paul said after a pause.
+
+"Ask me anything in all the world.  I'd turn myself inside out to save
+you."
+
+"To 'save' me?" he quavered.
+
+"To make you stick to it--to make you see it through.  As I said to you
+the other night at Summersoft, let my example be vivid to you."
+
+"Why your books are not so bad as that," said Paul, fairly laughing and
+feeling that if ever a fellow had breathed the air of art--!
+
+"So bad as what?"
+
+"Your talent's so great that it's in everything you do, in what's less
+good as well as in what's best.  You've some forty volumes to show for
+it--forty volumes of wonderful life, of rare observation, of magnificent
+ability."
+
+"I'm very clever, of course I know that"--but it was a thing, in fine,
+this author made nothing of.  "Lord, what rot they'd all be if I hadn't
+been I'm a successful charlatan," he went on--"I've been able to pass off
+my system.  But do you know what it is?  It's cartonpierre."
+
+"Carton-pierre?" Paul was struck, and gaped.
+
+"Lincrusta-Walton!"
+
+"Ah don't say such things--you make me bleed!" the younger man protested.
+"I see you in a beautiful fortunate home, living in comfort and honour."
+
+"Do you call it honour?"--his host took him up with an intonation that
+often comes back to him.  "That's what I want _you_ to go in for.  I mean
+the real thing.  This is brummagem."
+
+"Brummagem?" Paul ejaculated while his eyes wandered, by a movement
+natural at the moment, over the luxurious room.
+
+"Ah they make it so well to-day--it's wonderfully deceptive!"
+
+Our friend thrilled with the interest and perhaps even more with the pity
+of it.  Yet he wasn't afraid to seem to patronise when he could still so
+far envy.  "Is it deceptive that I find you living with every appearance
+of domestic felicity--blest with a devoted, accomplished wife, with
+children whose acquaintance I haven't yet had the pleasure of making, but
+who _must_ be delightful young people, from what I know of their
+parents?"
+
+St. George smiled as for the candour of his question.  "It's all
+excellent, my dear fellow--heaven forbid I should deny it.  I've made a
+great deal of money; my wife has known how to take care of it, to use it
+without wasting it, to put a good bit of it by, to make it fructify.  I've
+got a loaf on the shelf; I've got everything in fact but the great
+thing."
+
+"The great thing?" Paul kept echoing.
+
+"The sense of having done the best--the sense which is the real life of
+the artist and the absence of which is his death, of having drawn from
+his intellectual instrument the finest music that nature had hidden in
+it, of having played it as it should be played.  He either does that or
+he doesn't--and if he doesn't he isn't worth speaking of.  Therefore,
+precisely, those who really know _don't_ speak of him.  He may still hear
+a great chatter, but what he hears most is the incorruptible silence of
+Fame.  I've squared her, you may say, for my little hour--but what's my
+little hour?  Don't imagine for a moment," the Master pursued, "that I'm
+such a cad as to have brought you down here to abuse or to complain of my
+wife to you.  She's a woman of distinguished qualities, to whom my
+obligations are immense; so that, if you please, we'll say nothing about
+her.  My boys--my children are all boys--are straight and strong, thank
+God, and have no poverty of growth about them, no penury of needs.  I
+receive periodically the most satisfactory attestation from Harrow, from
+Oxford, from Sandhurst--oh we've done the best for them!--of their
+eminence as living thriving consuming organisms."
+
+"It must be delightful to feel that the son of one's loins is at
+Sandhurst," Paul remarked enthusiastically.
+
+"It is--it's charming.  Oh I'm a patriot!"
+
+The young man then could but have the greater tribute of questions to
+pay.  "Then what did you mean--the other night at Summersoft--by saying
+that children are a curse?"
+
+"My dear youth, on what basis are we talking?" and St. George dropped
+upon the sofa at a short distance from him.  Sitting a little sideways he
+leaned back against the opposite arm with his hands raised and
+interlocked behind his head.  "On the supposition that a certain
+perfection's possible and even desirable--isn't it so?  Well, all I say
+is that one's children interfere with perfection.  One's wife interferes.
+Marriage interferes."
+
+"You think then the artist shouldn't marry?"
+
+"He does so at his peril--he does so at his cost."
+
+"Not even when his wife's in sympathy with his work?"
+
+"She never is--she can't be!  Women haven't a conception of such things."
+
+"Surely they on occasion work themselves," Paul objected.
+
+"Yes, very badly indeed.  Oh of course, often, they think they
+understand, they think they sympathise.  Then it is they're most
+dangerous.  Their idea is that you shall do a great lot and get a great
+lot of money.  Their great nobleness and virtue, their exemplary
+conscientiousness as British females, is in keeping you up to that.  My
+wife makes all my bargains with my publishers for me, and has done so for
+twenty years.  She does it consummately well--that's why I'm really
+pretty well off.  Aren't you the father of their innocent babes, and will
+you withhold from them their natural sustenance?  You asked me the other
+night if they're not an immense incentive.  Of course they are--there's
+no doubt of that!"
+
+Paul turned it over: it took, from eyes he had never felt open so wide,
+so much looking at.  "For myself I've an idea I need incentives."
+
+"Ah well then, n'en parlons plus!" his companion handsomely smiled.
+
+"_You_ are an incentive, I maintain," the young man went on.  "You don't
+affect me in the way you'd apparently like to.  Your great success is
+what I see--the pomp of Ennismore Gardens!"
+
+"Success?"--St. George's eyes had a cold fine light.  "Do you call it
+success to be spoken of as you'd speak of me if you were sitting here
+with another artist--a young man intelligent and sincere like yourself?
+Do you call it success to make you blush--as you would blush!--if some
+foreign critic (some fellow, of course I mean, who should know what he
+was talking about and should have shown you he did, as foreign critics
+like to show it) were to say to you: 'He's the one, in this country, whom
+they consider the most perfect, isn't he?'  Is it success to be the
+occasion of a young Englishman's having to stammer as you would have to
+stammer at such a moment for old England?  No, no; success is to have
+made people wriggle to another tune.  Do try it!"
+
+Paul continued all gravely to glow.  "Try what?"
+
+"Try to do some really good work."
+
+"Oh I want to, heaven knows!"
+
+"Well, you can't do it without sacrifices--don't believe that for a
+moment," the Master said.  "I've made none.  I've had everything.  In
+other words I've missed everything."
+
+"You've had the full rich masculine human general life, with all the
+responsibilities and duties and burdens and sorrows and joys--all the
+domestic and social initiations and complications.  They must be
+immensely suggestive, immensely amusing," Paul anxiously submitted.
+
+"Amusing?"
+
+"For a strong man--yes."
+
+"They've given me subjects without number, if that's what you mean; but
+they've taken away at the same time the power to use them.  I've touched
+a thousand things, but which one of them have I turned into gold?  The
+artist has to do only with that--he knows nothing of any baser metal.
+I've led the life of the world, with my wife and my progeny; the clumsy
+conventional expensive materialised vulgarised brutalised life of London.
+We've got everything handsome, even a carriage--we're perfect Philistines
+and prosperous hospitable eminent people.  But, my dear fellow, don't try
+to stultify yourself and pretend you don't know what we _haven't_ got.
+It's bigger than all the rest.  Between artists--come!" the Master wound
+up.  "You know as well as you sit there that you'd put a pistol-ball into
+your brain if you had written my books!"
+
+It struck his listener that the tremendous talk promised by him at
+Summersoft had indeed come off, and with a promptitude, a fulness, with
+which the latter's young imagination had scarcely reckoned.  His
+impression fairly shook him and he throbbed with the excitement of such
+deep soundings and such strange confidences.  He throbbed indeed with the
+conflict of his feelings--bewilderment and recognition and alarm,
+enjoyment and protest and assent, all commingled with tenderness (and a
+kind of shame in the participation) for the sores and bruises exhibited
+by so fine a creature, and with a sense of the tragic secret nursed under
+his trappings.  The idea of _his_, Paul Overt's, becoming the occasion of
+such an act of humility made him flush and pant, at the same time that
+his consciousness was in certain directions too much alive not to
+swallow--and not intensely to taste--every offered spoonful of the
+revelation.  It had been his odd fortune to blow upon the deep waters, to
+make them surge and break in waves of strange eloquence.  But how
+couldn't he give out a passionate contradiction of his host's last
+extravagance, how couldn't he enumerate to him the parts of his work he
+loved, the splendid things he had found in it, beyond the compass of any
+other writer of the day?  St. George listened a while, courteously; then
+he said, laying his hand on his visitor's: "That's all very well; and if
+your idea's to do nothing better there's no reason you shouldn't have as
+many good things as I--as many human and material appendages, as many
+sons or daughters, a wife with as many gowns, a house with as many
+servants, a stable with as many horses, a heart with as many aches."  The
+Master got up when he had spoken thus--he stood a moment--near the sofa
+looking down on his agitated pupil.  "Are you possessed of any property?"
+it occurred to him to ask.
+
+"None to speak of."
+
+"Oh well then there's no reason why you shouldn't make a goodish
+income--if you set about it the right way.  Study _me_ for that--study me
+well.  You may really have horses."
+
+Paul sat there some minutes without speaking.  He looked straight before
+him--he turned over many things.  His friend had wandered away, taking up
+a parcel of letters from the table where the roll of proofs had lain.
+"What was the book Mrs. St. George made you burn--the one she didn't
+like?" our young man brought out.
+
+"The book she made me burn--how did you know that?"  The Master looked up
+from his letters quite without the facial convulsion the pupil had
+feared.
+
+"I heard her speak of it at Summersoft."
+
+"Ah yes--she's proud of it.  I don't know--it was rather good."
+
+"What was it about?"
+
+"Let me see."  And he seemed to make an effort to remember.  "Oh yes--it
+was about myself."  Paul gave an irrepressible groan for the
+disappearance of such a production, and the elder man went on: "Oh but
+_you_ should write it--_you_ should do me."  And he pulled up--from the
+restless motion that had come upon him; his fine smile a generous glare.
+"There's a subject, my boy: no end of stuff in it!"
+
+Again Paul was silent, but it was all tormenting.  "Are there no women
+who really understand--who can take part in a sacrifice?"
+
+"How can they take part?  They themselves are the sacrifice.  They're the
+idol and the altar and the flame."
+
+"Isn't there even _one_ who sees further?" Paul continued.
+
+For a moment St. George made no answer; after which, having torn up his
+letters, he came back to the point all ironic.  "Of course I know the one
+you mean.  But not even Miss Fancourt."
+
+"I thought you admired her so much."
+
+"It's impossible to admire her more.  Are you in love with her?" St.
+George asked.
+
+"Yes," Paul Overt presently said.
+
+"Well then give it up."
+
+Paul stared.  "Give up my 'love'?"
+
+"Bless me, no.  Your idea."  And then as our hero but still gazed: "The
+one you talked with her about.  The idea of a decent perfection."
+
+"She'd help it--she'd help it!" the young man cried.
+
+"For about a year--the first year, yes.  After that she'd be as a
+millstone round its neck."
+
+Paul frankly wondered.  "Why she has a passion for the real thing, for
+good work--for everything you and I care for most."
+
+"'You and I' is charming, my dear fellow!" his friend laughed.  "She has
+it indeed, but she'd have a still greater passion for her children--and
+very proper too.  She'd insist on everything's being made comfortable,
+advantageous, propitious for them.  That isn't the artist's business."
+
+"The artist--the artist!  Isn't he a man all the same?"
+
+St. George had a grand grimace.  "I mostly think not.  You know as well
+as I what he has to do: the concentration, the finish, the independence
+he must strive for from the moment he begins to wish his work really
+decent.  Ah my young friend, his relation to women, and especially to the
+one he's most intimately concerned with, is at the mercy of the damning
+fact that whereas he can in the nature of things have but one standard,
+they have about fifty.  That's what makes them so superior," St. George
+amusingly added.  "Fancy an artist with a change of standards as you'd
+have a change of shirts or of dinner-plates.  To _do_ it--to do it and
+make it divine--is the only thing he has to think about.  'Is it done or
+not?' is his only question.  Not 'Is it done as well as a proper
+solicitude for my dear little family will allow?'  He has nothing to do
+with the relative--he has only to do with the absolute; and a dear little
+family may represent a dozen relatives."
+
+"Then you don't allow him the common passions and affections of men?"
+Paul asked.
+
+"Hasn't he a passion, an affection, which includes all the rest?  Besides,
+let him have all the passions he likes--if he only keeps his
+independence.  He must be able to be poor."
+
+Paul slowly got up.  "Why then did you advise me to make up to her?"
+
+St. George laid his hand on his shoulder.  "Because she'd make a splendid
+wife!  And I hadn't read you then."
+
+The young man had a strained smile.  "I wish you had left me alone!"
+
+"I didn't know that that wasn't good enough for you," his host returned.
+
+"What a false position, what a condemnation of the artist, that he's a
+mere disfranchised monk and can produce his effect only by giving up
+personal happiness.  What an arraignment of art!" Paul went on with a
+trembling voice.
+
+"Ah you don't imagine by chance that I'm defending art?  'Arraignment'--I
+should think so!  Happy the societies in which it hasn't made its
+appearance, for from the moment it comes they have a consuming ache, they
+have an incurable corruption, in their breast.  Most assuredly is the
+artist in a false position!  But I thought we were taking him for
+granted.  Pardon me," St. George continued: "'Ginistrella' made me!"
+
+Paul stood looking at the floor--one o'clock struck, in the stillness,
+from a neighbouring church-tower.  "Do you think she'd ever look at me?"
+he put to his friend at last.
+
+"Miss Fancourt--as a suitor?  Why shouldn't I think it?  That's why I've
+tried to favour you--I've had a little chance or two of bettering your
+opportunity."
+
+"Forgive my asking you, but do you mean by keeping away yourself?" Paul
+said with a blush.
+
+"I'm an old idiot--my place isn't there," St. George stated gravely.
+
+"I'm nothing yet, I've no fortune; and there must be so many others," his
+companion pursued.
+
+The Master took this considerably in, but made little of it.  "You're a
+gentleman and a man of genius.  I think you might do something."
+
+"But if I must give that up--the genius?"
+
+"Lots of people, you know, think I've kept mine," St. George wonderfully
+grinned.
+
+"You've a genius for mystification!" Paul declared; but grasping his hand
+gratefully in attenuation of this judgement.
+
+"Poor dear boy, I do worry you!  But try, try, all the same.  I think
+your chances are good and you'll win a great prize."
+
+Paul held fast the other's hand a minute; he looked into the strange deep
+face.  "No, I _am_ an artist--I can't help it!"
+
+"Ah show it then!" St. George pleadingly broke out.  "Let me see before I
+die the thing I most want, the thing I yearn for: a life in which the
+passion--ours--is really intense.  If you can be rare don't fail of it!
+Think what it is--how it counts--how it lives!"
+
+They had moved to the door and he had closed both his hands over his
+companion's.  Here they paused again and our hero breathed deep.  "I want
+to live!"
+
+"In what sense?"
+
+"In the greatest."
+
+"Well then stick to it--see it through."
+
+"With your sympathy--your help?"
+
+"Count on that--you'll be a great figure to me.  Count on my highest
+appreciation, my devotion.  You'll give me satisfaction--if that has any
+weight with you."  After which, as Paul appeared still to waver, his host
+added: "Do you remember what you said to me at Summersoft?"
+
+"Something infatuated, no doubt!"
+
+"'I'll do anything in the world you tell me.'  You said that."
+
+"And you hold me to it?"
+
+"Ah what am I?" the Master expressively sighed.
+
+"Lord, what things I shall have to do!" Paul almost moaned as be
+departed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+"It goes on too much abroad--hang abroad!"  These or something like them
+had been the Master's remarkable words in relation to the action of
+"Ginistrella"; and yet, though they had made a sharp impression on the
+author of that work, like almost all spoken words from the same source,
+he a week after the conversation I have noted left England for a long
+absence and full of brave intentions.  It is not a perversion of the
+truth to pronounce that encounter the direct cause of his departure.  If
+the oral utterance of the eminent writer had the privilege of moving him
+deeply it was especially on his turning it over at leisure, hours and
+days later, that it appeared to yield him its full meaning and exhibit
+its extreme importance.  He spent the summer in Switzerland and, having
+in September begun a new task, determined not to cross the Alps till he
+should have made a good start.  To this end he returned to a quiet corner
+he knew well, on the edge of the Lake of Geneva and within sight of the
+towers of Chillon: a region and a view for which he had an affection that
+sprang from old associations and was capable of mysterious revivals and
+refreshments.  Here he lingered late, till the snow was on the nearer
+hills, almost down to the limit to which he could climb when his stint,
+on the shortening afternoons, was performed.  The autumn was fine, the
+lake was blue and his book took form and direction.  These felicities,
+for the time, embroidered his life, which he suffered to cover him with
+its mantle.  At the end of six weeks he felt he had learnt St. George's
+lesson by heart, had tested and proved its doctrine.  Nevertheless he did
+a very inconsistent thing: before crossing the Alps he wrote to Marian
+Fancourt.  He was aware of the perversity of this act, and it was only as
+a luxury, an amusement, the reward of a strenuous autumn, that he
+justified it.  She had asked of him no such favour when, shortly before
+he left London, three days after their dinner in Ennismore Gardens, he
+went to take leave of her.  It was true she had had no ground--he hadn't
+named his intention of absence.  He had kept his counsel for want of due
+assurance: it was that particular visit that was, the next thing, to
+settle the matter.  He had paid the visit to see how much he really cared
+for her, and quick departure, without so much as an explicit farewell,
+was the sequel to this enquiry, the answer to which had created within
+him a deep yearning.  When he wrote her from Clarens he noted that he
+owed her an explanation (more than three months after!) for not having
+told her what he was doing.
+
+She replied now briefly but promptly, and gave him a striking piece of
+news: that of the death, a week before, of Mrs. St. George.  This
+exemplary woman had succumbed, in the country, to a violent attack of
+inflammation of the lungs--he would remember that for a long time she had
+been delicate.  Miss Fancourt added that she believed her husband
+overwhelmed by the blow; he would miss her too terribly--she had been
+everything in life to him.  Paul Overt, on this, immediately wrote to St.
+George.  He would from the day of their parting have been glad to remain
+in communication with him, but had hitherto lacked the right excuse for
+troubling so busy a man.  Their long nocturnal talk came back to him in
+every detail, but this was no bar to an expression of proper sympathy
+with the head of the profession, for hadn't that very talk made it clear
+that the late accomplished lady was the influence that ruled his life?
+What catastrophe could be more cruel than the extinction of such an
+influence?  This was to be exactly the tone taken by St. George in
+answering his young friend upwards of a month later.  He made no allusion
+of course to their important discussion.  He spoke of his wife as frankly
+and generously as if he had quite forgotten that occasion, and the
+feeling of deep bereavement was visible in his words.  "She took
+everything off my hands--off my mind.  She carried on our life with the
+greatest art, the rarest devotion, and I was free, as few men can have
+been, to drive my pen, to shut myself up with my trade.  This was a rare
+service--the highest she could have rendered me.  Would I could have
+acknowledged it more fitly!"
+
+A certain bewilderment, for our hero, disengaged itself from these
+remarks: they struck him as a contradiction, a retractation, strange on
+the part of a man who hadn't the excuse of witlessness.  He had certainly
+not expected his correspondent to rejoice in the death of his wife, and
+it was perfectly in order that the rupture of a tie of more than twenty
+years should have left him sore.  But if she had been so clear a blessing
+what in the name of consistency had the dear man meant by turning him
+upside down that night--by dosing him to that degree, at the most
+sensitive hour of his life, with the doctrine of renunciation?  If Mrs.
+St. George was an irreparable loss, then her husband's inspired advice
+had been a bad joke and renunciation was a mistake.  Overt was on the
+point of rushing back to London to show that, for his part, he was
+perfectly willing to consider it so, and he went so far as to take the
+manuscript of the first chapters of his new book out of his table-drawer,
+to insert it into a pocket of his portmanteau.  This led to his catching
+a glimpse of certain pages he hadn't looked at for months, and that
+accident, in turn, to his being struck with the high promise they
+revealed--a rare result of such retrospections, which it was his habit to
+avoid as much as possible: they usually brought home to him that the glow
+of composition might be a purely subjective and misleading emotion.  On
+this occasion a certain belief in himself disengaged itself whimsically
+from the serried erasures of his first draft, making him think it best
+after all to pursue his present trial to the end.  If he could write as
+well under the rigour of privation it might be a mistake to change the
+conditions before that spell had spent itself.  He would go back to
+London of course, but he would go back only when he should have finished
+his book.  This was the vow he privately made, restoring his manuscript
+to the table-drawer.  It may be added that it took him a long time to
+finish his book, for the subject was as difficult as it was fine, and he
+was literally embarrassed by the fulness of his notes.  Something within
+him warned him that he must make it supremely good--otherwise he should
+lack, as regards his private behaviour, a handsome excuse.  He had a
+horror of this deficiency and found himself as firm as need be on the
+question of the lamp and the file.  He crossed the Alps at last and spent
+the winter, the spring, the ensuing summer, in Italy, where still, at the
+end of a twelvemonth, his task was unachieved.  "Stick to it--see it
+through": this general injunction of St. George's was good also for the
+particular case.  He applied it to the utmost, with the result that when
+in its slow order the summer had come round again he felt he had given
+all that was in him.  This time he put his papers into his portmanteau,
+with the address of his publisher attached, and took his way northward.
+
+He had been absent from London for two years--two years which, seeming to
+count as more, had made such a difference in his own life--through the
+production of a novel far stronger, he believed, than "Ginistrella"--that
+he turned out into Piccadilly, the morning after his arrival, with a
+vague expectation of changes, of finding great things had happened.  But
+there were few transformations in Piccadilly--only three or four big red
+houses where there had been low black ones--and the brightness of the end
+of June peeped through the rusty railings of the Green Park and glittered
+in the varnish of the rolling carriages as he had seen it in other, more
+cursory Junes.  It was a greeting he appreciated; it seemed friendly and
+pointed, added to the exhilaration of his finished book, of his having
+his own country and the huge oppressive amusing city that suggested
+everything, that contained everything, under his hand again.  "Stay at
+home and do things here--do subjects we can measure," St. George had
+said; and now it struck him he should ask nothing better than to stay at
+home for ever.  Late in the afternoon he took his way to Manchester
+Square, looking out for a number he hadn't forgotten.  Miss Fancourt,
+however, was not at home, so that he turned rather dejectedly from the
+door.  His movement brought him face to face with a gentleman just
+approaching it and recognised on another glance as Miss Fancourt's
+father.  Paul saluted this personage, and the General returned the
+greeting with his customary good manner--a manner so good, however, that
+you could never tell whether it meant he placed you.  The disappointed
+caller felt the impulse to address him; then, hesitating, became both
+aware of having no particular remark to make, and convinced that though
+the old soldier remembered him he remembered him wrong.  He therefore
+went his way without computing the irresistible effect his own evident
+recognition would have on the General, who never neglected a chance to
+gossip.  Our young man's face was expressive, and observation seldom let
+it pass.  He hadn't taken ten steps before he heard himself called after
+with a friendly semi-articulate "Er--I beg your pardon!"  He turned round
+and the General, smiling at him from the porch, said: "Won't you come in?
+I won't leave you the advantage of me!"  Paul declined to come in, and
+then felt regret, for Miss Fancourt, so late in the afternoon, might
+return at any moment.  But her father gave him no second chance; he
+appeared mainly to wish not to have struck him as ungracious.  A further
+look at the visitor had recalled something, enough at least to enable him
+to say: "You've come back, you've come back?"  Paul was on the point of
+replying that he had come back the night before, but he suppressed, the
+next instant, this strong light on the immediacy of his visit and, giving
+merely a general assent, alluded to the young lady he deplored not having
+found.  He had come late in the hope she would be in.  "I'll tell
+her--I'll tell her," said the old man; and then he added quickly,
+gallantly: "You'll be giving us something new?  It's a long time, isn't
+it?"  Now he remembered him right.
+
+"Rather long.  I'm very slow." Paul explained.  "I met you at Summersoft
+a long time ago."
+
+"Oh yes--with Henry St. George.  I remember very well.  Before his poor
+wife--" General Fancourt paused a moment, smiling a little less.  "I dare
+say you know."
+
+"About Mrs. St. George's death?  Certainly--I heard at the time."
+
+"Oh no, I mean--I mean he's to be married."
+
+"Ah I've not heard that!"  But just as Paul was about to add "To whom?"
+the General crossed his intention.
+
+"When did you come back?  I know you've been away--by my daughter.  She
+was very sorry.  You ought to give her something new."
+
+"I came back last night," said our young man, to whom something had
+occurred which made his speech for the moment a little thick.
+
+"Ah most kind of you to come so soon.  Couldn't you turn up at dinner?"
+
+"At dinner?" Paul just mechanically repeated, not liking to ask whom St.
+George was going to marry, but thinking only of that.
+
+"There are several people, I believe.  Certainly St. George.  Or
+afterwards if you like better.  I believe my daughter expects--"  He
+appeared to notice something in the visitor's raised face (on his steps
+he stood higher) which led him to interrupt himself, and the interruption
+gave him a momentary sense of awkwardness, from which he sought a quick
+issue.  "Perhaps then you haven't heard she's to be married."
+
+Paul gaped again.  "To be married?"
+
+"To Mr. St. George--it has just been settled.  Odd marriage, isn't it?"
+Our listener uttered no opinion on this point: he only continued to
+stare.  "But I dare say it will do--she's so awfully literary!" said the
+General.
+
+Paul had turned very red.  "Oh it's a surprise--very interesting, very
+charming!  I'm afraid I can't dine--so many thanks!"
+
+"Well, you must come to the wedding!" cried the General.  "Oh I remember
+that day at Summersoft.  He's a great man, you know."
+
+"Charming--charming!" Paul stammered for retreat.  He shook hands with
+the General and got off.  His face was red and he had the sense of its
+growing more and more crimson.  All the evening at home--he went straight
+to his rooms and remained there dinnerless--his cheek burned at intervals
+as if it had been smitten.  He didn't understand what had happened to
+him, what trick had been played him, what treachery practised.  "None,
+none," he said to himself.  "I've nothing to do with it.  I'm out of
+it--it's none of my business."  But that bewildered murmur was followed
+again and again by the incongruous ejaculation: "Was it a plan--was it a
+plan?"  Sometimes he cried to himself, breathless, "Have I been duped,
+sold, swindled?"  If at all, he was an absurd, an abject victim.  It was
+as if he hadn't lost her till now.  He had renounced her, yes; but that
+was another affair--that was a closed but not a locked door.  Now he
+seemed to see the door quite slammed in his face.  Did he expect her to
+wait--was she to give him his time like that: two years at a stretch?  He
+didn't know what he had expected--he only knew what he hadn't.  It wasn't
+this--it wasn't this.  Mystification bitterness and wrath rose and boiled
+in him when he thought of the deference, the devotion, the credulity with
+which he had listened to St. George.  The evening wore on and the light
+was long; but even when it had darkened he remained without a lamp.  He
+had flung himself on the sofa, where he lay through the hours with his
+eyes either closed or gazing at the gloom, in the attitude of a man
+teaching himself to bear something, to bear having been made a fool of.
+He had made it too easy--that idea passed over him like a hot wave.
+Suddenly, as he heard eleven o'clock strike, he jumped up, remembering
+what General Fancourt had said about his coming after dinner.  He'd
+go--he'd see her at least; perhaps he should see what it meant.  He felt
+as if some of the elements of a hard sum had been given him and the
+others were wanting: he couldn't do his sum till he had got all his
+figures.
+
+He dressed and drove quickly, so that by half-past eleven he was at
+Manchester Square.  There were a good many carriages at the door--a party
+was going on; a circumstance which at the last gave him a slight relief,
+for now he would rather see her in a crowd.  People passed him on the
+staircase; they were going away, going "on" with the hunted herdlike
+movement of London society at night.  But sundry groups remained in the
+drawing-room, and it was some minutes, as she didn't hear him announced,
+before he discovered and spoke to her.  In this short interval he had
+seen St. George talking to a lady before the fireplace; but he at once
+looked away, feeling unready for an encounter, and therefore couldn't be
+sure the author of "Shadowmere" noticed him.  At all events he didn't
+come over though Miss Fancourt did as soon as she saw him--she almost
+rushed at him, smiling rustling radiant beautiful.  He had forgotten what
+her head, what her face offered to the sight; she was in white, there
+were gold figures on her dress and her hair was a casque of gold.  He saw
+in a single moment that she was happy, happy with an aggressive
+splendour.  But she wouldn't speak to him of that, she would speak only
+of himself.
+
+"I'm so delighted; my father told me.  How kind of you to come!"  She
+struck him as so fresh and brave, while his eyes moved over her, that he
+said to himself irresistibly: "Why to him, why not to youth, to strength,
+to ambition, to a future?  Why, in her rich young force, to failure, to
+abdication to superannuation?"  In his thought at that sharp moment he
+blasphemed even against all that had been left of his faith in the
+peccable Master.  "I'm so sorry I missed you," she went on.  "My father
+told me.  How charming of you to have come so soon!"
+
+"Does that surprise you?" Paul Overt asked.
+
+"The first day?  No, from you--nothing that's nice."  She was interrupted
+by a lady who bade her good-night, and he seemed to read that it cost her
+nothing to speak to him in that tone; it was her old liberal lavish way,
+with a certain added amplitude that time had brought; and if this manner
+began to operate on the spot, at such a juncture in her history, perhaps
+in the other days too it had meant just as little or as much--a mere
+mechanical charity, with the difference now that she was satisfied, ready
+to give but in want of nothing.  Oh she was satisfied--and why shouldn't
+she be?  Why shouldn't she have been surprised at his coming the first
+day--for all the good she had ever got from him?  As the lady continued
+to hold her attention Paul turned from her with a strange irritation in
+his complicated artistic soul and a sort of disinterested disappointment.
+She was so happy that it was almost stupid--a disproof of the
+extraordinary intelligence he had formerly found in her.  Didn't she know
+how bad St. George could be, hadn't she recognised the awful thinness--?
+If she didn't she was nothing, and if she did why such an insolence of
+serenity?  This question expired as our young man's eyes settled at last
+on the genius who had advised him in a great crisis.  St. George was
+still before the chimney-piece, but now he was alone--fixed, waiting, as
+if he meant to stop after every one--and he met the clouded gaze of the
+young friend so troubled as to the degree of his right (the right his
+resentment would have enjoyed) to regard himself as a victim.  Somehow
+the ravage of the question was checked by the Master's radiance.  It was
+as fine in its way as Marian Fancourt's, it denoted the happy human
+being; but also it represented to Paul Overt that the author of
+"Shadowmere" had now definitely ceased to count--ceased to count as a
+writer.  As he smiled a welcome across the place he was almost banal, was
+almost smug.  Paul fancied that for a moment he hesitated to make a
+movement, as if for all the world he _had_ his bad conscience; then they
+had already met in the middle of the room and had shaken
+hands--expressively, cordially on St. George's part.  With which they had
+passed back together to where the elder man had been standing, while St.
+George said: "I hope you're never going away again.  I've been dining
+here; the General told me."  He was handsome, he was young, he looked as
+if he had still a great fund of life.  He bent the friendliest, most
+unconfessing eyes on his disciple of a couple of years before; asked him
+about everything, his health, his plans, his late occupations, the new
+book.  "When will it be out--soon, soon, I hope?  Splendid, eh?  That's
+right; you're a comfort, you're a luxury!  I've read you all over again
+these last six months."  Paul waited to see if he would tell him what the
+General had told him in the afternoon and what Miss Fancourt, verbally at
+least, of course hadn't.  But as it didn't come out he at last put the
+question.
+
+"Is it true, the great news I hear--that you're to be married?"
+
+"Ah you have heard it then?"
+
+"Didn't the General tell you?" Paul asked.
+
+The Master's face was wonderful.  "Tell me what?"
+
+"That he mentioned it to me this afternoon?"
+
+"My dear fellow, I don't remember.  We've been in the midst of people.
+I'm sorry, in that case, that I lose the pleasure, myself, of announcing
+to you a fact that touches me so nearly.  It _is_ a fact, strange as it
+may appear.  It has only just become one.  Isn't it ridiculous?"  St.
+George made this speech without confusion, but on the other hand, so far
+as our friend could judge, without latent impudence.  It struck his
+interlocutor that, to talk so comfortably and coolly, he must simply have
+forgotten what had passed between them.  His next words, however, showed
+he hadn't, and they produced, as an appeal to Paul's own memory, an
+effect which would have been ludicrous if it hadn't been cruel.  "Do you
+recall the talk we had at my house that night, into which Miss Fancourt's
+name entered?  I've often thought of it since."
+
+"Yes; no wonder you said what you did"--Paul was careful to meet his
+eyes.
+
+"In the light of the present occasion?  Ah but there was no light then.
+How could I have foreseen this hour?"
+
+"Didn't you think it probable?"
+
+"Upon my honour, no," said Henry St. George.  "Certainly I owe you that
+assurance.  Think how my situation has changed."
+
+"I see--I see," our young man murmured.
+
+His companion went on as if, now that the subject had been broached, he
+was, as a person of imagination and tact, quite ready to give every
+satisfaction--being both by his genius and his method so able to enter
+into everything another might feel.  "But it's not only that; for
+honestly, at my age, I never dreamed--a widower with big boys and with so
+little else!  It has turned out differently from anything one could have
+dreamed, and I'm fortunate beyond all measure.  She has been so free, and
+yet she consents.  Better than any one else perhaps--for I remember how
+you liked her before you went away, and how she liked you--you can
+intelligently congratulate me."
+
+"She has been so free!"  Those words made a great impression on Paul
+Overt, and he almost writhed under that irony in them as to which it so
+little mattered whether it was designed or casual.  Of course she had
+been free, and appreciably perhaps by his own act; for wasn't the
+Master's allusion to her having liked him a part of the irony too?  "I
+thought that by your theory you disapproved of a writer's marrying."
+
+"Surely--surely.  But you don't call me a writer?"
+
+"You ought to be ashamed," said Paul.
+
+"Ashamed of marrying again?"
+
+"I won't say that--but ashamed of your reasons."
+
+The elder man beautifully smiled.  "You must let me judge of them, my
+good friend."
+
+"Yes; why not?  For you judged wonderfully of mine."
+
+The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for St. George, to suggest the
+unsuspected.  He stared as if divining a bitterness.  "Don't you think
+I've been straight?"
+
+"You might have told me at the time perhaps."
+
+"My dear fellow, when I say I couldn't pierce futurity--!"
+
+"I mean afterwards."
+
+The Master wondered.  "After my wife's death?"
+
+"When this idea came to you."
+
+"Ah never, never!  I wanted to save you, rare and precious as you are."
+
+Poor Overt looked hard at him.  "Are you marrying Miss Fancourt to save
+me?"
+
+"Not absolutely, but it adds to the pleasure.  I shall be the making of
+you," St. George smiled.  "I was greatly struck, after our talk, with the
+brave devoted way you quitted the country, and still more perhaps with
+your force of character in remaining abroad.  You're very strong--you're
+wonderfully strong."
+
+Paul tried to sound his shining eyes; the strange thing was that he
+seemed sincere--not a mocking fiend.  He turned away, and as he did so
+heard the Master say something about his giving them all the proof, being
+the joy of his old age.  He faced him again, taking another look.  "Do
+you mean to say you've stopped writing?"
+
+"My dear fellow, of course I have.  It's too late.  Didn't I tell you?"
+
+"I can't believe it!"
+
+"Of course you can't--with your own talent!  No, no; for the rest of my
+life I shall only read _you_."
+
+"Does she know that--Miss Fancourt?"
+
+"She will--she will."  Did he mean this, our young man wondered, as a
+covert intimation that the assistance he should derive from that young
+lady's fortune, moderate as it was, would make the difference of putting
+it in his power to cease to work ungratefully an exhausted vein?  Somehow,
+standing there in the ripeness of his successful manhood, he didn't
+suggest that any of his veins were exhausted.  "Don't you remember the
+moral I offered myself to you that night as pointing?" St. George
+continued.  "Consider at any rate the warning I am at present."
+
+This was too much--he _was_ the mocking fiend.  Paul turned from him with
+a mere nod for good-night and the sense in a sore heart that he might
+come back to him and his easy grace, his fine way of arranging things,
+some time in the far future, but couldn't fraternise with him now.  It
+was necessary to his soreness to believe for the hour in the intensity of
+his grievance--all the more cruel for its not being a legal one.  It was
+doubtless in the attitude of hugging this wrong that he descended the
+stairs without taking leave of Miss Fancourt, who hadn't been in view at
+the moment he quitted the room.  He was glad to get out into the honest
+dusky unsophisticating night, to move fast, to take his way home on foot.
+He walked a long time, going astray, paying no attention.  He was
+thinking of too many other things.  His steps recovered their direction,
+however, and at the end of an hour he found himself before his door in
+the small inexpensive empty street.  He lingered, questioning himself
+still before going in, with nothing around and above him but moonless
+blackness, a bad lamp or two and a few far-away dim stars.  To these last
+faint features he raised his eyes; he had been saying to himself that he
+should have been "sold" indeed, diabolically sold, if now, on his new
+foundation, at the end of a year, St. George were to put forth something
+of his prime quality--something of the type of "Shadowmere" and finer
+than his finest.  Greatly as he admired his talent Paul literally hoped
+such an incident wouldn't occur; it seemed to him just then that he
+shouldn't be able to bear it.  His late adviser's words were still in his
+ears--"You're very strong, wonderfully strong."  Was he really?  Certainly
+he would have to be, and it might a little serve for revenge.  _Is_ he?
+the reader may ask in turn, if his interest has followed the perplexed
+young man so far.  The best answer to that perhaps is that he's doing his
+best, but that it's too soon to say.  When the new book came out in the
+autumn Mr. and Mrs. St. George found it really magnificent.  The former
+still has published nothing but Paul doesn't even yet feel safe.  I may
+say for him, however, that if this event were to occur he would really be
+the very first to appreciate it: which is perhaps a proof that the Master
+was essentially right and that Nature had dedicated him to intellectual,
+not to personal passion.
+
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Lesson of the Master by James
+#13 in our series by Henry James
+
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+The Lesson of the Master
+
+by Henry James
+
+April, 1997  [Etext #898]
+
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Lesson of the Master by James
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+The Lesson of the Master by Henry James
+Scanned and proofed by David Price
+ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+
+The Lesson of the Master
+
+
+
+
+He had been told the ladies were at church, but this was corrected
+by what he saw from the top of the steps - they descended from a
+great height in two arms, with a circular sweep of the most
+charming effect - at the threshold of the door which, from the long
+bright gallery, overlooked the immense lawn.  Three gentlemen, on
+the grass, at a distance, sat under the great trees, while the
+fourth figure showed a crimson dress that told as a "bit of colour"
+amid the fresh rich green.  The servant had so far accompanied Paul
+Overt as to introduce him to this view, after asking him if he
+wished first to go to his room.  The young man declined that
+privilege, conscious of no disrepair from so short and easy a
+journey and always liking to take at once a general perceptive
+possession of a new scene.  He stood there a little with his eyes
+on the group and on the admirable picture, the wide grounds of an
+old country-house near London - that only made it better - on a
+splendid Sunday in June.  "But that lady, who's SHE?" he said to
+the servant before the man left him.
+
+"I think she's Mrs. St. George, sir."
+
+"Mrs. St. George, the wife of the distinguished - "  Then Paul
+Overt checked himself, doubting if a footman would know.
+
+"Yes, sir - probably, sir," said his guide, who appeared to wish to
+intimate that a person staying at Summersoft would naturally be, if
+only by alliance, distinguished.  His tone, however, made poor
+Overt himself feel for the moment scantly so.
+
+"And the gentlemen?" Overt went on.
+
+"Well, sir, one of them's General Fancourt."
+
+"Ah yes, I know; thank you."  General Fancourt was distinguished,
+there was no doubt of that, for something he had done, or perhaps
+even hadn't done - the young man couldn't remember which - some
+years before in India.  The servant went away, leaving the glass
+doors open into the gallery, and Paul Overt remained at the head of
+the wide double staircase, saying to himself that the place was
+sweet and promised a pleasant visit, while he leaned on the
+balustrade of fine old ironwork which, like all the other details,
+was of the same period as the house.  It all went together and
+spoke in one voice - a rich English voice of the early part of the
+eighteenth century.  It might have been church-time on a summer's
+day in the reign of Queen Anne; the stillness was too perfect to be
+modern, the nearness counted so as distance, and there was
+something so fresh and sound in the originality of the large smooth
+house, the expanse of beautiful brickwork that showed for pink
+rather than red and that had been kept clear of messy creepers by
+the law under which a woman with a rare complexion disdains a veil.
+When Paul Overt became aware that the people under the trees had
+noticed him he turned back through the open doors into the great
+gallery which was the pride of the place.  It marched across from
+end to end and seemed - with its bright colours, its high panelled
+windows, its faded flowered chintzes, its quickly-recognised
+portraits and pictures, the blue-and-white china of its cabinets
+and the attenuated festoons and rosettes of its ceiling - a
+cheerful upholstered avenue into the other century.
+
+Our friend was slightly nervous; that went with his character as a
+student of fine prose, went with the artist's general disposition
+to vibrate; and there was a particular thrill in the idea that
+Henry St. George might be a member of the party.  For the young
+aspirant he had remained a high literary figure, in spite of the
+lower range of production to which he had fallen after his first
+three great successes, the comparative absence of quality in his
+later work.  There had been moments when Paul Overt almost shed
+tears for this; but now that he was near him - he had never met him
+- he was conscious only of the fine original source and of his own
+immense debt.  After he had taken a turn or two up and down the
+gallery he came out again and descended the steps.  He was but
+slenderly supplied with a certain social boldness - it was really a
+weakness in him - so that, conscious of a want of acquaintance with
+the four persons in the distance, he gave way to motions
+recommended by their not committing him to a positive approach.
+There was a fine English awkwardness in this - he felt that too as
+he sauntered vaguely and obliquely across the lawn, taking an
+independent line.  Fortunately there was an equally fine English
+directness in the way one of the gentlemen presently rose and made
+as if to "stalk" him, though with an air of conciliation and
+reassurance.  To this demonstration Paul Overt instantly responded,
+even if the gentleman were not his host.  He was tall, straight and
+elderly and had, like the great house itself, a pink smiling face,
+and into the bargain a white moustache.  Our young man met him
+halfway while he laughed and said:  "Er - Lady Watermouth told us
+you were coming; she asked me just to look after you."  Paul Overt
+thanked him, liking him on the spot, and turned round with him to
+walk toward the others.  "They've all gone to church - all except
+us," the stranger continued as they went; "we're just sitting here
+- it's so jolly."  Overt pronounced it jolly indeed:  it was such a
+lovely place.  He mentioned that he was having the charming
+impression for the first time.
+
+"Ah you've not been here before?" said his companion.  "It's a nice
+little place - not much to DO, you know".  Overt wondered what he
+wanted to "do" - he felt that he himself was doing so much.  By the
+time they came to where the others sat he had recognised his
+initiator for a military man and - such was the turn of Overt's
+imagination - had found him thus still more sympathetic.  He would
+naturally have a need for action, for deeds at variance with the
+pacific pastoral scene.  He was evidently so good-natured, however,
+that he accepted the inglorious hour for what it was worth.  Paul
+Overt shared it with him and with his companions for the next
+twenty minutes; the latter looked at him and he looked at them
+without knowing much who they were, while the talk went on without
+much telling him even what it meant.  It seemed indeed to mean
+nothing in particular; it wandered, with casual pointless pauses
+and short terrestrial flights, amid names of persons and places -
+names which, for our friend, had no great power of evocation.  It
+was all sociable and slow, as was right and natural of a warm
+Sunday morning.
+
+His first attention was given to the question, privately
+considered, of whether one of the two younger men would be Henry
+St. George.  He knew many of his distinguished contemporaries by
+their photographs, but had never, as happened, seen a portrait of
+the great misguided novelist.  One of the gentlemen was
+unimaginable - he was too young; and the other scarcely looked
+clever enough, with such mild undiscriminating eyes.  If those eyes
+were St. George's the problem, presented by the ill-matched parts
+of his genius would be still more difficult of solution.  Besides,
+the deportment of their proprietor was not, as regards the lady in
+the red dress, such as could be natural, toward the wife of his
+bosom, even to a writer accused by several critics of sacrificing
+too much to manner.  Lastly Paul Overt had a vague sense that if
+the gentleman with the expressionless eyes bore the name that had
+set his heart beating faster (he also had contradictory
+conventional whiskers - the young admirer of the celebrity had
+never in a mental vision seen HIS face in so vulgar a frame) he
+would have given him a sign of recognition or of friendliness,
+would have heard of him a little, would know something about
+"Ginistrella," would have an impression of how that fresh fiction
+had caught the eye of real criticism.  Paul Overt had a dread of
+being grossly proud, but even morbid modesty might view the
+authorship of "Ginistrella" as constituting a degree of identity.
+His soldierly friend became clear enough:  he was "Fancourt," but
+was also "the General"; and he mentioned to the new visitor in the
+course of a few moments that he had but lately returned from twenty
+years service abroad.
+
+"And now you remain in England?" the young man asked.
+
+"Oh yes; I've bought a small house in London."
+
+"And I hope you like it," said Overt, looking at Mrs. St. George.
+
+"Well, a little house in Manchester Square - there's a limit to the
+enthusiasm THAT inspires."
+
+"Oh I meant being at home again - being back in Piccadilly."
+
+"My daughter likes Piccadilly - that's the main thing.  She's very
+fond of art and music and literature and all that kind of thing.
+She missed it in India and she finds it in London, or she hopes
+she'll find it.  Mr. St. George has promised to help her - he has
+been awfully kind to her.  She has gone to church - she's fond of
+that too - but they'll all be back in a quarter of an hour.  You
+must let me introduce you to her - she'll be so glad to know you.
+I dare say she has read every blest word you've written."
+
+"I shall be delighted - I haven't written so very many," Overt
+pleaded, feeling, and without resentment, that the General at least
+was vagueness itself about that.  But he wondered a little why,
+expressing this friendly disposition, it didn't occur to the
+doubtless eminent soldier to pronounce the word that would put him
+in relation with Mrs. St. George.  If it was a question of
+introductions Miss Fancourt - apparently as yet unmarried - was far
+away, while the wife of his illustrious confrere was almost between
+them.  This lady struck Paul Overt as altogether pretty, with a
+surprising juvenility and a high smartness of aspect, something
+that - he could scarcely have said why - served for mystification.
+St. George certainly had every right to a charming wife, but he
+himself would never have imagined the important little woman in the
+aggressively Parisian dress the partner for life, the alter ego, of
+a man of letters.  That partner in general, he knew, that second
+self, was far from presenting herself in a single type:
+observation had taught him that she was not inveterately, not
+necessarily plain.  But he had never before seen her look so much
+as if her prosperity had deeper foundations than an ink-spotted
+study-table littered with proof-sheets.  Mrs. St. George might have
+been the wife of a gentleman who "kept" books rather than wrote
+them, who carried on great affairs in the City and made better
+bargains than those that poets mostly make with publishers.  With
+this she hinted at a success more personal - a success peculiarly
+stamping the age in which society, the world of conversation, is a
+great drawing-room with the City for its antechamber.  Overt
+numbered her years at first as some thirty, and then ended by
+believing that she might approach her fiftieth.  But she somehow in
+this case juggled away the excess and the difference - you only saw
+them in a rare glimpse, like the rabbit in the conjurer's sleeve.
+She was extraordinarily white, and her every element and item was
+pretty; her eyes, her ears, her hair, her voice, her hands, her
+feet - to which her relaxed attitude in her wicker chair gave a
+great publicity - and the numerous ribbons and trinkets with which
+she was bedecked.  She looked as if she had put on her best clothes
+to go to church and then had decided they were too good for that
+and had stayed at home.  She told a story of some length about the
+shabby way Lady Jane had treated the Duchess, as well as an
+anecdote in relation to a purchase she had made in Paris - on her
+way back from Cannes; made for Lady Egbert, who had never refunded
+the money.  Paul Overt suspected her of a tendency to figure great
+people as larger than life, until he noticed the manner in which
+she handled Lady Egbert, which was so sharply mutinous that it
+reassured him.  He felt he should have understood her better if he
+might have met her eye; but she scarcely so much as glanced at him.
+"Ah here they come - all the good ones!" she said at last; and Paul
+Overt admired at his distance the return of the church-goers -
+several persons, in couples and threes, advancing in a flicker of
+sun and shade at the end of a large green vista formed by the level
+grass and the overarching boughs.
+
+"If you mean to imply that WE'RE bad, I protest," said one of the
+gentlemen - "after making one's self agreeable all the morning!"
+
+"Ah if they've found you agreeable - !" Mrs. St. George gaily
+cried.  "But if we're good the others are better."
+
+"They must be angels then," said the amused General.
+
+"Your husband was an angel, the way he went off at your bidding,"
+the gentleman who had first spoken declared to Mrs. St. George.
+
+"At my bidding?"
+
+"Didn't you make him go to church?"
+
+"I never made him do anything in my life but once - when I made him
+burn up a bad book.  That's all!"  At her "That's all!" our young
+friend broke into an irrepressible laugh; it lasted only a second,
+but it drew her eyes to him.  His own met them, though not long
+enough to help him to understand her; unless it were a step towards
+this that he saw on the instant how the burnt book -  the way she
+alluded to it! - would have been one of her husband's finest
+things.
+
+"A bad book?" her interlocutor repeated.
+
+"I didn't like it.  He went to church because your daughter went,"
+she continued to General Fancourt.  "I think it my duty to call
+your attention to his extraordinary demonstrations to your
+daughter."
+
+"Well, if you don't mind them I don't," the General laughed.
+
+"Il s'attache e ses pas.  But I don't wonder - she's so charming."
+
+"I hope she won't make him burn any books!" Paul Overt ventured to
+exclaim.
+
+"If she'd make him write a few it would be more to the purpose,"
+said Mrs. St. George.  "He has been of a laziness of late - !"
+
+Our young man stared - he was so struck with the lady's
+phraseology.  Her "Write a few" seemed to him almost as good as her
+"That's all."  Didn't she, as the wife of a rare artist, know what
+it was to produce one perfect work of art?  How in the world did
+she think they were turned on?  His private conviction was that,
+admirably as Henry St. George wrote, he had written for the last
+ten years, and especially for the last five, only too much, and
+there was an instant during which he felt inwardly solicited to
+make this public.  But before he had spoken a diversion was
+effected by the return of the absentees.  They strolled up
+dispersedly - there were eight or ten of them - and the circle
+under the trees rearranged itself as they took their place in it.
+They made it much larger, so that Paul Overt could feel - he was
+always feeling that sort of thing, as he said to himself - that if
+the company had already been interesting to watch the interest
+would now become intense.  He shook hands with his hostess, who
+welcomed him without many words, in the manner of a woman able to
+trust him to understand and conscious that so pleasant an occasion
+would in every way speak for itself.  She offered him no particular
+facility for sitting by her, and when they had all subsided again
+he found himself still next General Fancourt, with an unknown lady
+on his other flank.
+
+"That's my daughter - that one opposite," the General said to him
+without lose of time.  Overt saw a tall girl, with magnificent red
+hair, in a dress of a pretty grey-green tint and of a limp silken
+texture, a garment that clearly shirked every modern effect.  It
+had therefore somehow the stamp of the latest thing, so that our
+beholder quickly took her for nothing if not contemporaneous.
+
+"She's very handsome - very handsome," he repeated while he
+considered her.  There was something noble in her head, and she
+appeared fresh and strong.
+
+Her good father surveyed her with complacency, remarking soon:
+"She looks too hot - that's her walk.  But she'll be all right
+presently.  Then I'll make her come over and speak to you."
+
+"I should be sorry to give you that trouble.  If you were to take
+me over THERE - !" the young man murmured.
+
+"My dear sir, do you suppose I put myself out that way?  I don't
+mean for you, but for Marian," the General added.
+
+"I would put myself out for her soon enough," Overt replied; after
+which he went on:  "Will you be so good as to tell me which of
+those gentlemen is Henry St. George?"
+
+"The fellow talking to my girl.  By Jove, he IS making up to her -
+they're going off for another walk."
+
+"Ah is that he - really?"  Our friend felt a certain surprise, for
+the personage before him seemed to trouble a vision which had been
+vague only while not confronted with the reality.  As soon as the
+reality dawned the mental image, retiring with a sigh, became
+substantial enough to suffer a slight wrong.  Overt, who had spent
+a considerable part of his short life in foreign lands, made now,
+but not for the first time, the reflexion that whereas in those
+countries he had almost always recognised the artist and the man of
+letters by his personal "type," the mould of his face, the
+character of his head, the expression of his figure and even the
+indications of his dress, so in England this identification was as
+little as possible a matter of course, thanks to the greater
+conformity, the habit of sinking the profession instead of
+advertising it, the general diffusion of the air of the gentleman -
+the gentleman committed to no particular set of ideas.  More than
+once, on returning to his own country, he had said to himself about
+people met in society:  "One sees them in this place and that, and
+one even talks with them; but to find out what they DO one would
+really have to be a detective."  In respect to several individuals
+whose work he was the opposite of "drawn to" - perhaps he was wrong
+- he found himself adding "No wonder they conceal it - when it's so
+bad!"  He noted that oftener than in France and in Germany his
+artist looked like a gentleman - that is like an English one -
+while, certainly outside a few exceptions, his gentlemen didn't
+look like an artist.  St. George was not one of the exceptions;
+that circumstance he definitely apprehended before the great man
+had turned his back to walk off with Miss Fancourt.  He certainly
+looked better behind than any foreign man of letters - showed for
+beautifully correct in his tall black hat and his superior frock
+coat.  Somehow, all the same, these very garments - he wouldn't
+have minded them so much on a weekday - were disconcerting to Paul
+Overt, who forgot for the moment that the head of the profession
+was not a bit better dressed than himself.  He had caught a glimpse
+of a regular face, a fresh colour, a brown moustache and a pair of
+eyes surely never visited by a fine frenzy, and he promised himself
+to study these denotements on the first occasion.  His superficial
+sense was that their owner might have passed for a lucky
+stockbroker - a gentleman driving eastward every morning from a
+sanitary suburb in a smart dog-cart.  That carried out the
+impression already derived from his wife.  Paul's glance, after a
+moment, travelled back to this lady, and he saw how her own had
+followed her husband as he moved off with Miss Fancourt.  Overt
+permitted himself to wonder a little if she were jealous when
+another woman took him away.  Then he made out that Mrs. St. George
+wasn't glaring at the indifferent maiden.  Her eyes rested but on
+her husband, and with unmistakeable serenity.  That was the way she
+wanted him to be -  she liked his conventional uniform.  Overt
+longed to hear more about the book she had induced him to destroy.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+
+As they all came out from luncheon General Fancourt took hold of
+him with an "I say, I want you to know my girl!" as if the idea had
+just occurred to him and he hadn't spoken of it before.  With the
+other hand he possessed himself all paternally of the young lady.
+"You know all about him.  I've seen you with his books.  She reads
+everything - everything!" he went on to Paul.  The girl smiled at
+him and then laughed at her father.  The General turned away and
+his daughter spoke - "Isn't papa delightful?"
+
+"He is indeed, Miss Fancourt."
+
+"As if I read you because I read 'everything'!"
+
+"Oh I don't mean for saying that," said Paul Overt.  "I liked him
+from the moment he began to be kind to me.  Then he promised me
+this privilege."
+
+"It isn't for you he means it - it's for me.  If you flatter
+yourself that he thinks of anything in life but me you'll find
+you're mistaken.  He introduces every one.  He thinks me
+insatiable."
+
+"You speak just like him," laughed our youth.
+
+"Ah but sometimes I want to" - and the girl coloured.  "I don't
+read everything - I read very little.  But I HAVE read you."
+
+"Suppose we go into the gallery," said Paul Overt.  She pleased him
+greatly, not so much because of this last remark - though that of
+course was not too disconcerting - as because, seated opposite to
+him at luncheon, she had given him for half an hour the impression
+of her beautiful face.  Something else had come with it - a sense
+of generosity, of an enthusiasm which, unlike many enthusiasms, was
+not all manner.  That was not spoiled for him by his seeing that
+the repast had placed her again in familiar contact with Henry St.
+George.  Sitting next her this celebrity was also opposite our
+young man, who had been able to note that he multiplied the
+attentions lately brought by his wife to the General's notice.
+Paul Overt had gathered as well that this lady was not in the least
+discomposed by these fond excesses and that she gave every sign of
+an unclouded spirit.  She had Lord Masham on one side of her and on
+the other the accomplished Mr. Mulliner, editor of the new high-
+class lively evening paper which was expected to meet a want felt
+in circles increasingly conscious that Conservatism must be made
+amusing, and unconvinced when assured by those of another political
+colour that it was already amusing enough.  At the end of an hour
+spent in her company Paul Overt thought her still prettier than at
+the first radiation, and if her profane allusions to her husband's
+work had not still rung in his ears he should have liked her - so
+far as it could be a question of that in connexion with a woman to
+whom he had not yet spoken and to whom probably he should never
+speak if it were left to her.  Pretty women were a clear need to
+this genius, and for the hour it was Miss Fancourt who supplied the
+want.  If Overt had promised himself a closer view the occasion was
+now of the best, and it brought consequences felt by the young man
+as important.  He saw more in St. George's face, which he liked the
+better for its not having told its whole story in the first three
+minutes.  That story came out as one read, in short instalments -
+it was excusable that one's analogies should be somewhat
+professional - and the text was a style considerably involved, a
+language not easy to translate at sight.  There were shades of
+meaning in it and a vague perspective of history which receded as
+you advanced.  Two facts Paul had particularly heeded.  The first
+of these was that he liked the measured mask much better at
+inscrutable rest than in social agitation; its almost convulsive
+smile above all displeased him (as much as any impression from that
+source could), whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in
+proportion as stillness settled again.  The change to the
+expression of gaiety excited, he made out, very much the private
+protest of a person sitting gratefully in the twilight when the
+lamp is brought in too soon.  His second reflexion was that, though
+generally averse to the flagrant use of ingratiating arts by a man
+of age "making up" to a pretty girl, he was not in this case too
+painfully affected:  which seemed to prove either that St. George
+had a light hand or the air of being younger than he was, or else
+that Miss Fancourt's own manner somehow made everything right.
+
+Overt walked with her into the gallery, and they strolled to the
+end of it, looking at the pictures, the cabinets, the charming
+vista, which harmonised with the prospect of the summer afternoon,
+resembling it by a long brightness, with great divans and old
+chairs that figured hours of rest.  Such a place as that had the
+added merit of giving those who came into it plenty to talk about.
+Miss Fancourt sat down with her new acquaintance on a flowered
+sofa, the cushions of which, very numerous, were tight ancient
+cubes of many sizes, and presently said:  "I'm so glad to have a
+chance to thank you."
+
+"To thank me - ?"  He had to wonder.
+
+"I liked your book so much.  I think it splendid."
+
+She sat there smiling at him, and he never asked himself which book
+she meant; for after all he had written three or four.  That seemed
+a vulgar detail, and he wasn't even gratified by the idea of the
+pleasure she told him - her handsome bright face told him - he had
+given her.  The feeling she appealed to, or at any rate the feeling
+she excited, was something larger, something that had little to do
+with any quickened pulsation of his own vanity.  It was responsive
+admiration of the life she embodied, the young purity and richness
+of which appeared to imply that real success was to resemble THAT,
+to live, to bloom, to present the perfection of a fine type, not to
+have hammered out headachy fancies with a bent back at an ink-
+stained table.  While her grey eyes rested on him - there was a
+wideish space between these, and the division of her rich-coloured
+hair, so thick that it ventured to be smooth, made a free arch
+above them - he was almost ashamed of that exercise of the pen
+which it was her present inclination to commend.  He was conscious
+he should have liked better to please her in some other way.  The
+lines of her face were those of a woman grown, but the child
+lingered on in her complexion and in the sweetness of her mouth.
+Above all she was natural - that was indubitable now; more natural
+than he had supposed at first, perhaps on account of her aesthetic
+toggery, which was conventionally unconventional, suggesting what
+he might have called a tortuous spontaneity.  He had feared that
+sort of thing in other cases, and his fears had been justified;
+for, though he was an artist to the essence, the modern reactionary
+nymph, with the brambles of the woodland caught in her folds and a
+look as if the satyrs had toyed with her hair, made him shrink not
+as a man of starch and patent leather, but as a man potentially
+himself a poet or even a faun.  The girl was really more candid
+than her costume, and the best proof of it was her supposing her
+liberal character suited by any uniform.  This was a fallacy, since
+if she was draped as a pessimist he was sure she liked the taste of
+life.  He thanked her for her appreciation - aware at the same time
+that he didn't appear to thank her enough and that she might think
+him ungracious.  He was afraid she would ask him to explain
+something he had written, and he always winced at that - perhaps
+too timidly - for to his own ear the explanation of a work of art
+sounded fatuous.  But he liked her so much as to feel a confidence
+that in the long run he should be able to show her he wasn't rudely
+evasive.  Moreover she surely wasn't quick to take offence, wasn't
+irritable; she could be trusted to wait.  So when he said to her,
+"Ah don't talk of anything I've done, don't talk of it HERE;
+there's another man in the house who's the actuality!" - when he
+uttered this short sincere protest it was with the sense that she
+would see in the words neither mock humility nor the impatience of
+a successful man bored with praise.
+
+"You mean Mr. St. George - isn't he delightful?"
+
+Paul Overt met her eyes, which had a cool morning-light that would
+have half-broken his heart if he hadn't been so young.  "Alas I
+don't know him.  I only admire him at a distance."
+
+"Oh you must know him - he wants so to talk to you," returned Miss
+Fancourt, who evidently had the habit of saying the things that, by
+her quick calculation, would give people pleasure.  Paul saw how
+she would always calculate on everything's being simple between
+others.
+
+"I shouldn't have supposed he knew anything about me," he
+professed.
+
+"He does then - everything.  And if he didn't I should be able to
+tell him."
+
+"To tell him everything?" our friend smiled.
+
+"You talk just like the people in your book!" she answered.
+
+"Then they must all talk alike."
+
+She thought a moment, not a bit disconcerted.  "Well, it must be so
+difficult.  Mr. St. George tells me it IS - terribly.  I've tried
+too - and I find it so.  I've tried to write a novel."
+
+"Mr. St. George oughtn't to discourage you," Paul went so far as to
+say.
+
+"You do much more - when you wear that expression."
+
+"Well, after all, why try to be an artist?" the young man pursued.
+"It's so poor - so poor!"
+
+"I don't know what you mean," said Miss Fancourt, who looked grave.
+
+"I mean as compared with being a person of action - as living your
+works."
+
+"But what's art but an intense life - if it be real?" she asked.
+"I think it's the only one - everything else is so clumsy!"  Her
+companion laughed, and she brought out with her charming serenity
+what next struck her.  "It's so interesting to meet so many
+celebrated people."
+
+"So I should think - but surely it isn't new to you."
+
+"Why I've never seen any one - any one:  living always in Asia."
+
+The way she talked of Asia somehow enchanted him.  "But doesn't
+that continent swarm with great figures?  Haven't you administered
+provinces in India and had captive rajahs and tributary princes
+chained to your car?"
+
+It was as if she didn't care even SHOULD he amuse himself at her
+cost.  "I was with my father, after I left school to go out there.
+It was delightful being with him - we're alone together in the
+world, he and I - but there was none of the society I like best.
+One never heard of a picture - never of a book, except bad ones."
+
+"Never of a picture?  Why, wasn't all life a picture?"
+
+She looked over the delightful place where they sat.  "Nothing to
+compare to this.  I adore England!" she cried.
+
+It fairly stirred in him the sacred chord.  "Ah of course I don't
+deny that we must do something with her, poor old dear, yet."
+
+"She hasn't been touched, really," said the girl.
+
+"Did Mr. St. George say that?"
+
+There was a small and, as he felt, harmless spark of irony in his
+question; which, however, she answered very simply, not noticing
+the insinuation.  "Yes, he says England hasn't been touched - not
+considering all there is," she went on eagerly.  "He's so
+interesting about our country.  To listen to him makes one want so
+to do something."
+
+"It would make ME want to," said Paul Overt, feeling strongly, on
+the instant, the suggestion of what she said and that of the
+emotion with which she said it, and well aware of what an
+incentive, on St. George's lips, such a speech might be.
+
+"Oh you - as if you hadn't!  I should like so to hear you talk
+together," she added ardently.
+
+"That's very genial of you; but he'd have it all his own way.  I'm
+prostrate before him."
+
+She had an air of earnestness.  "Do you think then he's so
+perfect?"
+
+"Far from it.  Some of his later books seem to me of a queerness -
+!"
+
+"Yes, yes - he knows that."
+
+Paul Overt stared.  "That they seem to me of a queerness - !"
+
+"Well yes, or at any rate that they're not what they should be.  He
+told me he didn't esteem them.  He has told me such wonderful
+things - he's so interesting."
+
+There was a certain shock for Paul Overt in the knowledge that the
+fine genius they were talking of had been reduced to so explicit a
+confession and had made it, in his misery, to the first comer; for
+though Miss Fancourt was charming what was she after all but an
+immature girl encountered at a country-house?  Yet precisely this
+was part of the sentiment he himself had just expressed:  he would
+make way completely for the poor peccable great man not because he
+didn't read him clear, but altogether because he did.  His
+consideration was half composed of tenderness for superficialities
+which he was sure their perpetrator judged privately, judged more
+ferociously than any one, and which represented some tragic
+intellectual secret.  He would have his reasons for his psychology
+e fleur de peau, and these reasons could only be cruel ones, such
+as would make him dearer to those who already were fond of him.
+"You excite my envy.  I have my reserves, I discriminate - but I
+love him," Paul said in a moment.  "And seeing him for the first
+time this way is a great event for me."
+
+"How momentous - how magnificent!" cried the girl.  "How delicious
+to bring you together!"
+
+"Your doing it - that makes it perfect," our friend returned.
+
+"He's as eager as you," she went on.  "But it's so odd you
+shouldn't have met."
+
+"It's not really so odd as it strikes you.  I've been out of
+England so much - made repeated absences all these last years."
+
+She took this in with interest.  "And yet you write of it as well
+as if you were always here."
+
+"It's just the being away perhaps.  At any rate the best bits, I
+suspect, are those that were done in dreary places abroad."
+
+"And why were they dreary?"
+
+"Because they were health-resorts - where my poor mother was
+dying."
+
+"Your poor mother?" - she was all sweet wonder.
+
+"We went from place to place to help her to get better.  But she
+never did.  To the deadly Riviera (I hate it!) to the high Alps, to
+Algiers, and far away - a hideous journey - to Colorado."
+
+"And she isn't better?" Miss Fancourt went on.
+
+"She died a year ago."
+
+"Really? - like mine!  Only that's years since.  Some day you must
+tell me about your mother," she added.
+
+He could at first, on this, only gaze at her.  "What right things
+you say!  If you say them to St. George I don't wonder he's in
+bondage."
+
+It pulled her up for a moment.  "I don't know what you mean.  He
+doesn't make speeches and professions at all - he isn't
+ridiculous."
+
+"I'm afraid you consider then that I am."
+
+"No, I don't" - she spoke it rather shortly.  And then she added:
+"He understands - understands everything."
+
+The young man was on the point of saying jocosely:  "And I don't -
+is that it?"  But these words, in time, changed themselves to
+others slightly less trivial:  "Do you suppose he understands his
+wife?"
+
+Miss Fancourt made no direct answer, but after a moment's
+hesitation put it:  "Isn't she charming?"
+
+"Not in the least!"
+
+"Here he comes.  Now you must know him," she went on.  A small
+group of visitors had gathered at the other end of the gallery and
+had been there overtaken by Henry St. George, who strolled in from
+a neighbouring room.  He stood near them a moment, not falling into
+the talk but taking up an old miniature from a table and vaguely
+regarding it.  At the end of a minute he became aware of Miss
+Fancourt and her companion in the distance; whereupon, laying down
+his miniature, he approached them with the same procrastinating
+air, his hands in his pockets and his eyes turned, right and left,
+to the pictures.  The gallery was so long that this transit took
+some little time, especially as there was a moment when he stopped
+to admire the fine Gainsborough.  "He says Mrs. St. George has been
+the making of him," the girl continued in a voice slightly lowered.
+
+"Ah he's often obscure!" Paul laughed.
+
+"Obscure?" she repeated as if she heard it for the first time.  Her
+eyes rested on her other friend, and it wasn't lost upon Paul that
+they appeared to send out great shafts of softness.  "He's going to
+speak to us!" she fondly breathed.  There was a sort of rapture in
+her voice, and our friend was startled.  "Bless my soul, does she
+care for him like THAT? - is she in love with him?" he mentally
+enquired.  "Didn't I tell you he was eager?" she had meanwhile
+asked of him.
+
+"It's eagerness dissimulated," the young man returned as the
+subject of their observation lingered before his Gainsborough.  "He
+edges toward us shyly.  Does he mean that she saved him by burning
+that book?"
+
+"That book? what book did she burn?"  The girl quickly turned her
+face to him.
+
+"Hasn't he told you then?"
+
+"Not a word."
+
+"Then he doesn't tell you everything!"  Paul had guessed that she
+pretty much supposed he did.  The great man had now resumed his
+course and come nearer; in spite of which his more qualified
+admirer risked a profane observation:  "St. George and the Dragon
+is what the anecdote suggests!"
+
+His companion, however, didn't hear it; she smiled at the dragon's
+adversary.  "He IS eager - he is!" she insisted.
+
+"Eager for you - yes."
+
+But meanwhile she had called out:  "I'm sure you want to know Mr.
+Overt.  You'll be great friends, and it will always be delightful
+to me to remember I was here when you first met and that I had
+something to do with it."
+
+There was a freshness of intention in the words that carried them
+off; nevertheless our young man was sorry for Henry St. George, as
+he was sorry at any time for any person publicly invited to be
+responsive and delightful.  He would have been so touched to
+believe that a man he deeply admired should care a straw for him
+that he wouldn't play with such a presumption if it were possibly
+vain.  In a single glance of the eye of the pardonable Master he
+read - having the sort of divination that belonged to his talent -
+that this personage had ever a store of friendly patience, which
+was part of his rich outfit, but was versed in no printed page of a
+rising scribbler.  There was even a relief, a simplification, in
+that:  liking him so much already for what he had done, how could
+one have liked him any more for a perception which must at the best
+have been vague?  Paul Overt got up, trying to show his compassion,
+but at the same instant he found himself encompassed by St.
+George's happy personal art - a manner of which it was the essence
+to conjure away false positions.  It all took place in a moment.
+Paul was conscious that he knew him now, conscious of his handshake
+and of the very quality of his hand; of his face, seen nearer and
+consequently seen better, of a general fraternising assurance, and
+in particular of the circumstance that St. George didn't dislike
+him (as yet at least) for being imposed by a charming but too
+gushing girl, attractive enough without such danglers.  No
+irritation at any rate was reflected in the voice with which he
+questioned Miss Fancourt as to some project of a walk - a general
+walk of the company round the park.  He had soon said something to
+Paul about a talk - "We must have a tremendous lot of talk; there
+are so many things, aren't there?" - but our friend could see this
+idea wouldn't in the present case take very immediate effect.  All
+the same he was extremely happy, even after the matter of the walk
+had been settled - the three presently passed back to the other
+part of the gallery, where it was discussed with several members of
+the party; even when, after they had all gone out together, he
+found himself for half an hour conjoined with Mrs. St. George.  Her
+husband had taken the advance with Miss Fancourt, and this pair
+were quite out of sight.  It was the prettiest of rambles for a
+summer afternoon - a grassy circuit, of immense extent, skirting
+the limit of the park within.  The park was completely surrounded
+by its old mottled but perfect red wall, which, all the way on
+their left, constituted in itself an object of interest.  Mrs. St.
+George mentioned to him the surprising number of acres thus
+enclosed, together with numerous other facts relating to the
+property and the family, and the family's other properties:  she
+couldn't too strongly urge on him the importance of seeing their
+other houses.  She ran over the names of these and rang the changes
+on them with the facility of practice, making them appear an almost
+endless list.  She had received Paul Overt very amiably on his
+breaking ground with her by the mention of his joy in having just
+made her husband's acquaintance, and struck him as so alert and so
+accommodating a little woman that he was rather ashamed of his MOT
+about her to Miss Fancourt; though he reflected that a hundred
+other people, on a hundred occasions, would have been sure to make
+it.  He got on with Ms. St. George, in short, better than he
+expected; but this didn't prevent her suddenly becoming aware that
+she was faint with fatigue and must take her way back to the house
+by the shortest cut.  She professed that she hadn't the strength of
+a kitten and was a miserable wreck; a character he had been too
+preoccupied to discern in her while he wondered in what sense she
+could be held to have been the making of her husband.  He had
+arrived at a glimmering of the answer when she announced that she
+must leave him, though this perception was of course provisional.
+While he was in the very act of placing himself at her disposal for
+the return the situation underwent a change; Lord Masham had
+suddenly turned up, coming back to them, overtaking them, emerging
+from the shrubbery - Overt could scarcely have said how he appeared
+- and Mrs. St. George had protested that she wanted to be left
+alone and not to break up the party.  A moment later she was
+walking off with Lord Masham.  Our friend fell back and joined Lady
+Watermouth, to whom he presently mentioned that Mrs. St. George had
+been obliged to renounce the attempt to go further.
+
+"She oughtn't to have come out at all," her ladyship rather
+grumpily remarked.
+
+"Is she so very much of an invalid?"
+
+"Very bad indeed."  And his hostess added with still greater
+austerity:  "She oughtn't really to come to one!"  He wondered what
+was implied by this, and presently gathered that it was not a
+reflexion on the lady's conduct or her moral nature:  it only
+represented that her strength was not equal to her aspirations.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+
+The smoking-room at Summersoft was on the scale of the rest of the
+place; high light commodious and decorated with such refined old
+carvings and mouldings that it seemed rather a bower for ladies who
+should sit at work at fading crewels than a parliament of gentlemen
+smoking strong cigars.  The gentlemen mustered there in
+considerable force on the Sunday evening, collecting mainly at one
+end, in front of one of the cool fair fireplaces of white marble,
+the entablature of which was adorned with a delicate little Italian
+"subject."  There was another in the wall that faced it, and,
+thanks to the mild summer night, a fire in neither; but a nucleus
+for aggregation was furnished on one side by a table in the
+chimney-corner laden with bottles, decanters and tall tumblers.
+Paul Overt was a faithless smoker; he would puff a cigarette for
+reasons with which tobacco had nothing to do.  This was
+particularly the case on the occasion of which I speak; his motive
+was the vision of a little direct talk with Henry St. George.  The
+"tremendous" communion of which the great man had held out hopes to
+him earlier in the day had not yet come off, and this saddened him
+considerably, for the party was to go its several ways immediately
+after breakfast on the morrow.  He had, however, the disappointment
+of finding that apparently the author of "Shadowmere" was not
+disposed to prolong his vigil.  He wasn't among the gentlemen
+assembled when Paul entered, nor was he one of those who turned up,
+in bright habiliments, during the next ten minutes.  The young man
+waited a little, wondering if he had only gone to put on something
+extraordinary; this would account for his delay as well as
+contribute further to Overt's impression of his tendency to do the
+approved superficial thing.  But he didn't arrive - he must have
+been putting on something more extraordinary than was probable.
+Our hero gave him up, feeling a little injured, a little wounded,
+at this loss of twenty coveted words.  He wasn't angry, but he
+puffed his cigarette sighingly, with the sense of something rare
+possibly missed.  He wandered away with his regret and moved slowly
+round the room, looking at the old prints on the walls.  In this
+attitude he presently felt a hand on his shoulder and a friendly
+voice in his ear "This is good.  I hoped I should find you.  I came
+down on purpose."  St. George was there without a change of dress
+and with a fine face - his graver one - to which our young man all
+in a flutter responded.  He explained that it was only for the
+Master - the idea of a little talk - that he had sat up, and that,
+not finding him, he had been on the point of going to bed.
+
+"Well, you know, I don't smoke - my wife doesn't let me," said St.
+George, looking for a place to sit down.  "It's very good for me -
+very good for me.  Let us take that sofa."
+
+"Do you mean smoking's good for you?"
+
+"No no - her not letting me.  It's a great thing to have a wife
+who's so sure of all the things one can do without.  One might
+never find them out one's self.  She doesn't allow me to touch a
+cigarette."  They took possession of a sofa at a distance from the
+group of smokers, and St. George went on:  "Have you got one
+yourself?"
+
+"Do you mean a cigarette?"
+
+"Dear no - a wife."
+
+"No; and yet I'd give up my cigarette for one."
+
+"You'd give up a good deal more than that," St. George returned.
+"However, you'd get a great deal in return.  There's a something to
+be said for wives," he added, folding his arms and crossing his
+outstretched legs.  He declined tobacco altogether and sat there
+without returning fire.  His companion stopped smoking, touched by
+his courtesy; and after all they were out of the fumes, their sofa
+was in a far-away corner.  It would have been a mistake, St. George
+went on, a great mistake for them to have separated without a
+little chat; "for I know all about you," he said, "I know you're
+very remarkable.  You've written a very distinguished book."
+
+"And how do you know it?" Paul asked.
+
+"Why, my dear fellow, it's in the air, it's in the papers, it's
+everywhere."  St. George spoke with the immediate familiarity of a
+confrere - a tone that seemed to his neighbour the very rustle of
+the laurel.  "You're on all men's lips and, what's better, on all
+women's.  And I've just been reading your book."
+
+"Just?  You hadn't read it this afternoon," said Overt.
+
+"How do you know that?"
+
+"I think you should know how I know it," the young man laughed.
+
+"I suppose Miss Fancourt told you."
+
+"No indeed - she led me rather to suppose you had."
+
+"Yes - that's much more what she'd do.  Doesn't she shed a rosy
+glow over life?  But you didn't believe her?" asked St. George.
+
+"No, not when you came to us there."
+
+"Did I pretend? did I pretend badly?"  But without waiting for an
+answer to this St. George went on:  "You ought always to believe
+such a girl as that - always, always.  Some women are meant to be
+taken with allowances and reserves; but you must take HER just as
+she is."
+
+"I like her very much," said Paul Overt.
+
+Something in his tone appeared to excite on his companion's part a
+momentary sense of the absurd; perhaps it was the air of
+deliberation attending this judgement.  St. George broke into a
+laugh to reply.  "It's the best thing you can do with her.  She's a
+rare young lady!  In point of fact, however, I confess I hadn't
+read you this afternoon."
+
+"Then you see how right I was in this particular case not to
+believe Miss Fancourt."
+
+"How right? how can I agree to that when I lost credit by it?"
+
+"Do you wish to pass exactly for what she represents you?
+Certainly you needn't be afraid," Paul said.
+
+"Ah, my dear young man, don't talk about passing - for the likes of
+me!  I'm passing away - nothing else than that.  She has a better
+use for her young imagination (isn't it fine?) than in
+'representing' in any way such a weary wasted used-up animal!"  The
+Master spoke with a sudden sadness that produced a protest on
+Paul's part; but before the protest could be uttered he went on,
+reverting to the latter's striking novel:  "I had no idea you were
+so good - one hears of so many things.  But you're surprisingly
+good."
+
+"I'm going to be surprisingly better," Overt made bold to reply.
+
+"I see that, and it's what fetches me.  I don't see so much else -
+as one looks about - that's going to be surprisingly better.
+They're going to be consistently worse - most of the things.  It's
+so much easier to be worse - heaven knows I've found it so.  I'm
+not in a great glow, you know, about what's breaking out all over
+the place.  But you MUST be better - you really must keep it up.  I
+haven't of course.  It's very difficult - that's the devil of the
+whole thing, keeping it up.  But I see you'll be able to.  It will
+be a great disgrace if you don't."
+
+"It's very interesting to hear you speak of yourself; but I don't
+know what you mean by your allusions to your having fallen off,"
+Paul Overt observed with pardonable hypocrisy.  He liked his
+companion so much now that the fact of any decline of talent or of
+care had ceased for the moment to be vivid to him.
+
+"Don't say that - don't say that," St. George returned gravely, his
+head resting on the top of the sofa-back and his eyes on the
+ceiling.  "You know perfectly what I mean.  I haven't read twenty
+pages of your book without seeing that you can't help it."
+
+"You make me very miserable," Paul ecstatically breathed.
+
+"I'm glad of that, for it may serve as a kind of warning.  Shocking
+enough it must be, especially to a young fresh mind, full of faith
+- the spectacle of a man meant for better things sunk at my age in
+such dishonour."  St. George, in the same contemplative attitude,
+spoke softly but deliberately, and without perceptible emotion.
+His tone indeed suggested an impersonal lucidity that was
+practically cruel - cruel to himself - and made his young friend
+lay an argumentative hand on his arm.  But he went on while his
+eyes seemed to follow the graces of the eighteenth-century ceiling:
+"Look at me well, take my lesson to heart - for it IS a lesson.
+Let that good come of it at least that you shudder with your
+pitiful impression, and that this may help to keep you straight in
+the future.  Don't become in your old age what I have in mine - the
+depressing, the deplorable illustration of the worship of false
+gods!"
+
+"What do you mean by your old age?" the young man asked.
+
+"It has made me old.  But I like your youth."
+
+Paul answered nothing - they sat for a minute in silence.  They
+heard the others going on about the governmental majority.  Then
+"What do you mean by false gods?" he enquired.
+
+His companion had no difficulty whatever in saying, "The idols of
+the market; money and luxury and 'the world;' placing one's
+children and dressing one's wife; everything that drives one to the
+short and easy way.  Ah the vile things they make one do!"
+
+"But surely one's right to want to place one's children."
+
+"One has no business to have any children," St. George placidly
+declared.  "I mean of course if one wants to do anything good."
+
+"But aren't they an inspiration - an incentive?"
+
+"An incentive to damnation, artistically speaking."
+
+"You touch on very deep things - things I should like to discuss
+with you," Paul said.  "I should like you to tell me volumes about
+yourself.  This is a great feast for ME!"
+
+"Of course it is, cruel youth.  But to show you I'm still not
+incapable, degraded as I am, of an act of faith, I'll tie my vanity
+to the stake for you and burn it to ashes.  You must come and see
+me - you must come and see us," the Master quickly substituted.
+"Mrs. St. George is charming; I don't know whether you've had any
+opportunity to talk with her.  She'll be delighted to see you; she
+likes great celebrities, whether incipient or predominant.  You
+must come and dine - my wife will write to you.  Where are you to
+be found?"
+
+"This is my little address" - and Overt drew out his pocketbook and
+extracted a visiting-card.  On second thoughts, however, he kept it
+back, remarking that he wouldn't trouble his friend to take charge
+of it but would come and see him straightway in London and leave it
+at his door if he should fail to obtain entrance.
+
+"Ah you'll probably fail; my wife's always out - or when she isn't
+out is knocked up from having been out.  You must come and dine -
+though that won't do much good either, for my wife insists on big
+dinners."  St. George turned it over further, but then went on:
+"You must come down and see us in the country, that's the best way;
+we've plenty of room, and it isn't bad."
+
+"You've a house in the country?" Paul asked enviously.
+
+"Ah not like this!  But we have a sort of place we go to - an hour
+from Euston.  That's one of the reasons."
+
+"One of the reasons?"
+
+"Why my books are so bad."
+
+"You must tell me all the others!" Paul longingly laughed.
+
+His friend made no direct rejoinder to this, but spoke again
+abruptly.  "Why have I never seen you before?"
+
+The tone of the question was singularly flattering to our hero, who
+felt it to imply the great man's now perceiving he had for years
+missed something.  "Partly, I suppose, because there has been no
+particular reason why you should see me.  I haven't lived in the
+world - in your world.  I've spent many years out of England, in
+different places abroad."
+
+"Well, please don't do it any more.  You must do England - there's
+such a lot of it."
+
+"Do you mean I must write about it?" and Paul struck the note of
+the listening candour of a child.
+
+"Of course you must.  And tremendously well, do you mind?  That
+takes off a little of my esteem for this thing of yours - that it
+goes on abroad.  Hang 'abroad!'  Stay at home and do things here -
+do subjects we can measure."
+
+"I'll do whatever you tell me," Overt said, deeply attentive.  "But
+pardon me if I say I don't understand how you've been reading my
+book," he added.  "I've had you before me all the afternoon, first
+in that long walk, then at tea on the lawn, till we went to dress
+for dinner, and all the evening at dinner and in this place."
+
+St. George turned his face about with a smile.  "I gave it but a
+quarter of an hour."
+
+"A quarter of an hour's immense, but I don't understand where you
+put it in.  In the drawing-room after dinner you weren't reading -
+you were talking to Miss Fancourt."
+
+"It comes to the same thing, because we talked about 'Ginistrella.'
+She described it to me - she lent me her copy."
+
+"Lent it to you?"
+
+"She travels with it."
+
+"It's incredible," Paul blushed.
+
+"It's glorious for you, but it also turned out very well for me.
+When the ladies went off to bed she kindly offered to send the book
+down to me.  Her maid brought it to me in the hall and I went to my
+room with it.  I hadn't thought of coming here, I do that so
+little.  But I don't sleep early, I always have to read an hour or
+two.  I sat down to your novel on the spot, without undressing,
+without taking off anything but my coat.  I think that's a sign my
+curiosity had been strongly roused about it.  I read a quarter of
+an hour, as I tell you, and even in a quarter of an hour I was
+greatly struck."
+
+"Ah the beginning isn't very good - it's the whole thing!" said
+Overt, who had listened to this recital with extreme interest.
+"And you laid down the book and came after me?" he asked.
+
+"That's the way it moved me.  I said to myself 'I see it's off his
+own bat, and he's there, by the way, and the day's over and I
+haven't said twenty words to him.'  It occurred to me that you'd
+probably be in the smoking-room and that it wouldn't be too late to
+repair my omission.  I wanted to do something civil to you, so I
+put on my coat and came down.  I shall read your book again when I
+go up."
+
+Our friend faced round in his place - he was touched as he had
+scarce ever been by the picture of such a demonstration in his
+favour.  "You're really the kindest of men.  Cela s'est passe comme
+ca? - and I've been sitting here with you all this time and never
+apprehended it and never thanked you!"
+
+"Thank Miss Fancourt - it was she who wound me up.  She has made me
+feel as if I had read your novel."
+
+"She's an angel from heaven!" Paul declared.
+
+"She is indeed.  I've never seen any one like her.  Her interest in
+literature's touching - something quite peculiar to herself; she
+takes it all so seriously.  She feels the arts and she wants to
+feel them more.  To those who practise them it's almost humiliating
+- her curiosity, her sympathy, her good faith.  How can anything be
+as fine as she supposes it?"
+
+"She's a rare organisation," the younger man sighed.
+
+"The richest I've ever seen - an artistic intelligence really of
+the first order.  And lodged in such a form!" St. George exclaimed.
+
+"One would like to represent such a girl as that," Paul continued.
+
+"Ah there it is - there's nothing like life!" said his companion.
+"When you're finished, squeezed dry and used up and you think the
+sack's empty, you're still appealed to, you still get touches and
+thrills, the idea springs up - out of the lap of the actual - and
+shows you there's always something to be done.  But I shan't do it
+- she's not for me!"
+
+"How do you mean, not for you?"
+
+"Oh it's all over - she's for you, if you like."
+
+"Ah much less!" said Paul.  "She's not for a dingy little man of
+letters; she's for the world, the bright rich world of bribes and
+rewards.  And the world will take hold of her - it will carry her
+away."
+
+"It will try - but it's just a case in which there may be a fight.
+It would be worth fighting, for a man who had it in him, with youth
+and talent on his side."
+
+These words rang not a little in Paul Overt's consciousness - they
+held him briefly silent.  "It's a wonder she has remained as she
+is; giving herself away so - with so much to give away."
+
+"Remaining, you mean, so ingenuous - so natural?  Oh she doesn't
+care a straw - she gives away because she overflows.  She has her
+own feelings, her own standards; she doesn't keep remembering that
+she must be proud.  And then she hasn't been here long enough to be
+spoiled; she has picked up a fashion or two, but only the amusing
+ones.  She's a provincial - a provincial of genius," St. George
+went on; "her very blunders are charming, her mistakes are
+interesting.  She has come back from Asia with all sorts of excited
+curiosities and unappeased appetities.  She's first-rate herself
+and she expends herself on the second-rate.  She's life herself and
+she takes a rare interest in imitations.  She mixes all things up,
+but there are none in regard to which she hasn't perceptions.  She
+sees things in a perspective - as if from the top of the Himalayas
+- and she enlarges everything she touches.  Above all she
+exaggerates - to herself, I mean.  She exaggerates you and me!"
+
+There was nothing in that description to allay the agitation caused
+in our younger friend by such a sketch of a fine subject.  It
+seemed to him to show the art of St. George's admired hand, and he
+lost himself in gazing at the vision - this hovered there before
+him - of a woman's figure which should be part of the glory of a
+novel.  But at the end of a moment the thing had turned into smoke,
+and out of the smoke -  the last puff of a big cigar - proceeded
+the voice of General Fancourt, who had left the others and come and
+planted himself before the gentlemen on the sofa.  "I suppose that
+when you fellows get talking you sit up half the night."
+
+"Half the night? - jamais de la vie!  I follow a hygiene" - and St.
+George rose to his feet.
+
+"I see - you're hothouse plants," laughed the General.  "That's the
+way you produce your flowers."
+
+"I produce mine between ten and one every morning - I bloom with a
+regularity!" St. George went on.
+
+"And with a splendour!" added the polite General, while Paul noted
+how little the author of "Shadowmere" minded, as he phrased it to
+himself, when addressed as a celebrated story-teller.  The young
+man had an idea HE should never get used to that; it would always
+make him uncomfortable - from the suspicion that people would think
+they had to - and he would want to prevent it.  Evidently his great
+colleague had toughened and hardened - had made himself a surface.
+The group of men had finished their cigars and taken up their
+bedroom candlesticks; but before they all passed out Lord
+Watermouth invited the pair of guests who had been so absorbed
+together to "have" something.  It happened that they both declined;
+upon which General Fancourt said:  "Is that the hygiene?  You don't
+water the flowers?"
+
+"Oh I should drown them!" St. George replied; but, leaving the room
+still at his young friend's side, he added whimsically, for the
+latter's benefit, in a lower tone:  "My wife doesn't let me."
+
+"Well I'm glad I'm not one of you fellows!" the General richly
+concluded.
+
+The nearness of Summersoft to London had this consequence, chilling
+to a person who had had a vision of sociability in a railway-
+carriage, that most of the company, after breakfast, drove back to
+town, entering their own vehicles, which had come out to fetch
+them, while their servants returned by train with their luggage.
+Three or four young men, among whom was Paul Overt, also availed
+themselves of the common convenience; but they stood in the portico
+of the house and saw the others roll away.  Miss Fancourt got into
+a victoria with her father after she had shaken hands with our hero
+and said, smiling in the frankest way in the world, "I MUST see you
+more.  Mrs. St. George is so nice:  she has promised to ask us both
+to dinner together."  This lady and her husband took their places
+in a perfectly-appointed brougham - she required a closed carriage
+- and as our young man waved his hat to them in response to their
+nods and flourishes he reflected that, taken together, they were an
+honourable image of success, of the material rewards and the social
+credit of literature.  Such things were not the full measure, but
+he nevertheless felt a little proud for literature.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+
+Before a week had elapsed he met Miss Fancourt in Bond Street, at a
+private view of the works of a young artist in "black-and-white"
+who had been so good as to invite him to the stuffy scene.  The
+drawings were admirable, but the crowd in the one little room was
+so dense that he felt himself up to his neck in a sack of wool.  A
+fringe of people at the outer edge endeavoured by curving forward
+their backs and presenting, below them, a still more convex surface
+of resistance to the pressure of the mass, to preserve an interval
+between their noses and the glazed mounts of the pictures; while
+the central body, in the comparative gloom projected by a wide
+horizontal screen hung under the skylight and allowing only a
+margin for the day, remained upright dense and vague, lost in the
+contemplation of its own ingredients.  This contemplation sat
+especially in the sad eyes of certain female heads, surmounted with
+hats of strange convolution and plumage, which rose on long necks
+above the others.  One of the heads Paul perceived, was much the so
+most beautiful of the collection, and his next discovery was that
+it belonged to Miss Fancourt.  Its beauty was enhanced by the glad
+smile she sent him across surrounding obstructions, a smile that
+drew him to her as fast as he could make his way.  He had seen for
+himself at Summersoft that the last thing her nature contained was
+an affectation of indifference; yet even with this circumspection
+he took a fresh satisfaction in her not having pretended to await
+his arrival with composure.  She smiled as radiantly as if she
+wished to make him hurry, and as soon as he came within earshot she
+broke out in her voice of joy:  "He's here - he's here - he's
+coming back in a moment!"
+
+"Ah your father?" Paul returned as she offered him her hand.
+
+"Oh dear no, this isn't in my poor father's line.  I mean Mr. St.
+George.  He has just left me to speak to some one - he's coming
+back.  It's he who brought me - wasn't it charming?"
+
+"Ah that gives him a pull over me - I couldn't have 'brought' you,
+could I?"
+
+"If you had been so kind as to propose it - why not you as well as
+he?" the girl returned with a face that, expressing no cheap
+coquetry, simply affirmed a happy fact.
+
+"Why he's a pere de famille.  They've privileges," Paul explained.
+And then quickly:  "Will you go to see places with ME?" he asked.
+
+"Anything you like!" she smiled.  "I know what you mean, that girls
+have to have a lot of people - "  Then she broke off:  "I don't
+know; I'm free.  I've always been like that - I can go about with
+any one.  I'm so glad to meet you," she added with a sweet
+distinctness that made those near her turn round.
+
+"Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of this
+squash," her friend said.  "Surely people aren't happy here!"
+
+"No, they're awfully mornes, aren't they?  But I'm very happy
+indeed and I promised Mr. St. George to remain in this spot till he
+comes back.  He's going to take me away.  They send him invitations
+for things of this sort - more than he wants.  It was so kind of
+him to think of me."
+
+"They also send me invitations of this kind - more than I want.
+And if thinking of YOU will do it - !" Paul went on.
+
+"Oh I delight in them - everything that's life - everything that's
+London!"
+
+"They don't have private views in Asia, I suppose," he laughed.
+"But what a pity that for this year, even in this gorged city,
+they're pretty well over."
+
+"Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we're going to be
+friends always.  Here he comes!" Miss Fancourt continued before
+Paul had time to respond.
+
+He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps
+led to his hurrying a little to say:  "I hope that doesn't mean I'm
+to wait till next year to see you."
+
+"No, no - aren't we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?" she
+panted with an eagerness as happy as his own.
+
+"That's almost next year.  Is there no means of seeing you before?"
+
+She stared with all her brightness.  "Do you mean you'd COME?"
+
+"Like a shot, if you'll be so good as to ask me!"
+
+"On Sunday then - this next Sunday?"
+
+"What have I done that you should doubt it?" the young man asked
+with delight.
+
+Miss Fancourt turned instantly to St. George, who had now joined
+them, and announced triumphantly:  "He's coming on Sunday - this
+next Sunday!"
+
+"Ah my day - my day too!" said the famous novelist, laughing, to
+their companion.
+
+"Yes, but not yours only.  You shall meet in Manchester Square; you
+shall talk - you shall be wonderful!"
+
+"We don't meet often enough," St. George allowed, shaking hands
+with his disciple.  "Too many things - ah too many things!  But we
+must make it up in the country in September.  You won't forget
+you've promised me that?"
+
+"Why he's coming on the twenty-fifth - you'll see him then," said
+the girl.
+
+"On the twenty-fifth?" St. George asked vaguely.
+
+"We dine with you; I hope you haven't forgotten.  He's dining out
+that day," she added gaily to Paul.
+
+"Oh bless me, yes - that's charming!  And you're coming?  My wife
+didn't tell me," St. George said to him.  "Too many things - too
+many things!" he repeated.
+
+"Too many people - too many people!" Paul exclaimed, giving ground
+before the penetration of an elbow.
+
+"You oughtn't to say that.  They all read you."
+
+"Me?  I should like to see them!  Only two or three at most," the
+young man returned.
+
+"Did you ever hear anything like that?  He knows, haughtily, how
+good he is!" St. George declared, laughing to Miss Fancourt.  "They
+read ME, but that doesn't make me like them any better.  Come away
+from them, come away!"  And he led the way out of the exhibition.
+
+"He's going to take me to the Park," Miss Fancourt observed to
+Overt with elation as they passed along the corridor that led to
+the street.
+
+"Ah does he go there?" Paul asked, taking the fact for a somewhat
+unexpected illustration of St. George's moeurs.
+
+"It's a beautiful day - there'll be a great crowd.  We're going to
+look at the people, to look at types," the girl went on.  "We shall
+sit under the trees; we shall walk by the Row."
+
+"I go once a year - on business," said St. George, who had
+overheard Paul's question.
+
+"Or with a country cousin, didn't you tell me?  I'm the country
+cousin!" she continued over her shoulder to Paul as their friend
+drew her toward a hansom to which he had signalled.  The young man
+watched them get in; he returned, as he stood there, the friendly
+wave of the hand with which, ensconced in the vehicle beside her,
+St. George took leave of him.  He even lingered to see the vehicle
+start away and lose itself in the confusion of Bond Street.  He
+followed it with his eyes; it put to him embarrassing things.
+"She's not for ME!" the great novelist had said emphatically at
+Summersoft; but his manner of conducting himself toward her
+appeared not quite in harmony with such a conviction.  How could he
+have behaved differently if she HAD been for him?  An indefinite
+envy rose in Paul Overt's heart as he took his way on foot alone; a
+feeling addressed alike strangely enough, to each of the occupants
+of the hansom.  How much he should like to rattle about London with
+such a girl!  How much he should like to go and look at "types"
+with St. George!
+
+The next Sunday at four o'clock he called in Manchester Square,
+where his secret wish was gratified by his finding Miss Fancourt
+alone.  She was in a large bright friendly occupied room, which was
+painted red all over, draped with the quaint cheap florid stuffs
+that are represented as coming from southern and eastern countries,
+where they are fabled to serve as the counterpanes of the
+peasantry, and bedecked with pottery of vivid hues, ranged on
+casual shelves, and with many water-colour drawings from the hand
+(as the visitor learned) of the young lady herself, commemorating
+with a brave breadth the sunsets, the mountains, the temples and
+palaces of India.  He sat an hour - more than an hour, two hours -
+and all the while no one came in.  His hostess was so good as to
+remark, with her liberal humanity, that it was delightful they
+weren't interrupted; it was so rare in London, especially at that
+season, that people got a good talk.  But luckily now, of a fine
+Sunday, half the world went out of town, and that made it better
+for those who didn't go, when these others were in sympathy.  It
+was the defect of London - one of two or three, the very short list
+of those she recognised in the teeming world-city she adored - that
+there were too few good chances for talk; you never had time to
+carry anything far.
+
+"Too many things - too many things!" Paul said, quoting St.
+George's exclamation of a few days before.
+
+"Ah yes, for him there are too many - his life's too complicated."
+
+"Have you seen it NEAR?  That's what I should like to do; it might
+explain some mysteries," her visitor went on.  She asked him what
+mysteries he meant, and he said:  "Oh peculiarities of his work,
+inequalities, superficialities.  For one who looks at it from the
+artistic point of view it contains a bottomless ambiguity."
+
+She became at this, on the spot, all intensity.  "Ah do describe
+that more - it's so interesting.  There are no such suggestive
+questions.  I'm so fond of them.  He thinks he's a failure -
+fancy!" she beautifully wailed.
+
+"That depends on what his ideal may have been.  With his gifts it
+ought to have been high.  But till one knows what he really
+proposed to himself - ?  Do YOU know by chance?" the young man
+broke off.
+
+"Oh he doesn't talk to me about himself.  I can't make him.  It's
+too provoking."
+
+Paul was on the point of asking what then he did talk about, but
+discretion checked it and he said instead:  "Do you think he's
+unhappy at home?"
+
+She seemed to wonder.  "At home?"
+
+"I mean in his relations with his wife.  He has a mystifying little
+way of alluding to her."
+
+"Not to me," said Marian Fancourt with her clear eyes.  "That
+wouldn't be right, would it?" she asked gravely.
+
+"Not particularly; so I'm glad he doesn't mention her to you.  To
+praise her might bore you, and he has no business to do anything
+else.  Yet he knows you better than me."
+
+"Ah but he respects YOU!" the girl cried as with envy.
+
+Her visitor stared a moment, then broke into a laugh.  "Doesn't he
+respect you?"
+
+"Of course, but not in the same way.  He respects what you've done
+- he told me so, the other day."
+
+Paul drank it in, but retained his faculties.  "When you went to
+look at types?"
+
+"Yes - we found so many:  he has such an observation of them!  He
+talked a great deal about your book.  He says it's really
+important."
+
+"Important!  Ah the grand creature!" - and the author of the work
+in question groaned for joy.
+
+"He was wonderfully amusing, he was inexpressibly droll, while we
+walked about.  He sees everything; he has so many comparisons and
+images, and they're always exactly right.  C'est d'un trouve, as
+they say."
+
+"Yes, with his gifts, such things as he ought to have done!" Paul
+sighed.
+
+"And don't you think he HAS done them?"
+
+Ah it was just the point.  "A part of them, and of course even that
+part's immense.  But he might have been one of the greatest.
+However, let us not make this an hour of qualifications.  Even as
+they stand," our friend earnestly concluded, "his writings are a
+mine of gold."
+
+To this proposition she ardently responded, and for half an hour
+the pair talked over the Master's principal productions.  She knew
+them well - she knew them even better than her visitor, who was
+struck with her critical intelligence and with something large and
+bold in the movement in her mind.  She said things that startled
+him and that evidently had come to her directly; they weren't
+picked-up phrases - she placed them too well.  St. George had been
+right about her being first-rate, about her not being afraid to
+gush, not remembering that she must be proud.  Suddenly something
+came back to her, and she said:  "I recollect that he did speak of
+Mrs. St. George to me once.  He said, apropos of something or
+other, that she didn't care for perfection."
+
+"That's a great crime in an artist's wife," Paul returned.
+
+"Yes, poor thing!" and the girl sighed with a suggestion of many
+reflexions, some of them mitigating.  But she presently added:  "Ah
+perfection, perfection - how one ought to go in for it!  I wish I
+could."
+
+"Every one can in his way," her companion opined.
+
+"In HIS way, yes - but not in hers.  Women are so hampered - so
+condemned!  Yet it's a kind of dishonour if you don't, when you
+want to DO something, isn't it?"  Miss Fancourt pursued, dropping
+one train in her quickness to take up another, an accident that was
+common with her.  So these two young persons sat discussing high
+themes in their eclectic drawing-room, in their London "season" -
+discussing, with extreme seriousness, the high theme of perfection.
+It must be said in extenuation of this eccentricity that they were
+interested in the business.  Their tone had truth and their emotion
+beauty; they weren't posturing for each other or for some one else.
+
+The subject was so wide that they found themselves reducing it; the
+perfection to which for the moment they agreed to confine their
+speculations was that of the valid, the exemplary work of art.  Our
+young woman's imagination, it appeared, had wandered far in that
+direction, and her guest had the rare delight of feeling in their
+conversation a full interchange.  This episode will have lived for
+years in his memory and even in his wonder; it had the quality that
+fortune distils in a single drop at a time - the quality that
+lubricates many ensuing frictions.  He still, whenever he likes,
+has a vision of the room, the bright red sociable talkative room
+with the curtains that, by a stroke of successful audacity, had the
+note of vivid blue.  He remembers where certain things stood, the
+particular book open on the table and the almost intense odour of
+the flowers placed, at the left, somewhere behind him.  These facts
+were the fringe, as it were, of a fine special agitation which had
+its birth in those two hours and of which perhaps the main sign was
+in its leading him inwardly and repeatedly to breathe "I had no
+idea there was any one like this - I had no idea there was any one
+like this!"  Her freedom amazed him and charmed him - it seemed so
+to simplify the practical question.  She was on the footing of an
+independent personage - a motherless girl who had passed out of her
+teens and had a position and responsibilities, who wasn't held down
+to the limitations of a little miss.  She came and went with no
+dragged duenna, she received people alone, and, though she was
+totally without hardness, the question of protection or patronage
+had no relevancy in regard to her.  She gave such an impression of
+the clear and the noble combined with the easy and the natural that
+in spite of her eminent modern situation she suggested no sort of
+sister-hood with the "fast" girl.  Modern she was indeed, and made
+Paul Overt, who loved old colour, the golden glaze of time, think
+with some alarm of the muddled palette of the future.  He couldn't
+get used to her interest in the arts he cared for; it seemed too
+good to be real - it was so unlikely an adventure to tumble into
+such a well of sympathy.  One might stray into the desert easily -
+that was on the cards and that was the law of life; but it was too
+rare an accident to stumble on a crystal well.  Yet if her
+aspirations seemed at one moment too extravagant to be real they
+struck him at the next as too intelligent to be false.  They were
+both high and lame, and, whims for whims, he preferred them to any
+he had met in a like relation.  It was probable enough she would
+leave them behind - exchange them for politics or "smartness" or
+mere prolific maternity, as was the custom of scribbling daubing
+educated flattered girls in an age of luxury and a society of
+leisure.  He noted that the water-colours on the walls of the room
+she sat in had mainly the quality of being naives, and reflected
+that naivete in art is like a zero in a number:  its importance
+depends on the figure it is united with.  Meanwhile, however, he
+had fallen in love with her.  Before he went away, at any rate, he
+said to her:  "I thought St. George was coming to see you to-day,
+but he doesn't turn up."
+
+For a moment he supposed she was going to cry "Comment donc?  Did
+you come here only to meet him?"  But the next he became aware of
+how little such a speech would have fallen in with any note of
+flirtation he had as yet perceived in her.  She only replied:  "Ah
+yes, but I don't think he'll come.  He recommended me not to expect
+him."  Then she gaily but all gently added:  "He said it wasn't
+fair to you.  But I think I could manage two."
+
+"So could I," Paul Overt returned, stretching the point a little to
+meet her.  In reality his appreciation of the occasion was so
+completely an appreciation of the woman before him that another
+figure in the scene, even so esteemed a one as St. George, might
+for the hour have appealed to him vainly.  He left the house
+wondering what the great man had meant by its not being fair to
+him; and, still more than that, whether he had actually stayed away
+from the force of that idea.  As he took his course through the
+Sunday solitude of Manchester Square, swinging his stick and with a
+good deal of emotion fermenting in his soul, it appeared to him he
+was living in a world strangely magnanimous.  Miss Fancourt had
+told him it was possible she should be away, and that her father
+should be, on the following Sunday, but that she had the hope of a
+visit from him in the other event.  She promised to let him know
+should their absence fail, and then he might act accordingly.
+After he had passed into one of the streets that open from the
+Square he stopped, without definite intentions, looking sceptically
+for a cab.  In a moment he saw a hansom roll through the place from
+the other side and come a part of the way toward him.  He was on
+the point of hailing the driver when he noticed a "fare" within;
+then he waited, seeing the man prepare to deposit his passenger by
+pulling up at one of the houses.  The house was apparently the one
+he himself had just quitted; at least he drew that inference as he
+recognised Henry St. George in the person who stepped out of the
+hansom.  Paul turned off as quickly as if he had been caught in the
+act of spying.  He gave up his cab - he preferred to walk; he would
+go nowhere else.  He was glad St. George hadn't renounced his visit
+altogether - that would have been too absurd.  Yes, the world was
+magnanimous, and even he himself felt so as, on looking at his
+watch, he noted but six o'clock, so that he could mentally
+congratulate his successor on having an hour still to sit in Miss
+Fancourt's drawing-room.  He himself might use that hour for
+another visit, but by the time he reached the Marble Arch the idea
+of such a course had become incongruous to him.  He passed beneath
+that architectural effort and walked into the Park till he got upon
+the spreading grass.  Here he continued to walk; he took his way
+across the elastic turf and came out by the Serpentine.  He watched
+with a friendly eye the diversions of the London people, he bent a
+glance almost encouraging on the young ladies paddling their
+sweethearts about the lake and the guardsmen tickling tenderly with
+their bearskins the artificial flowers in the Sunday hats of their
+partners.  He prolonged his meditative walk; he went into
+Kensington Gardens, he sat upon the penny chairs, he looked at the
+little sail-boats launched upon the round pond and was glad he had
+no engagement to dine.  He repaired for this purpose, very late, to
+his club, where he found himself unable to order a repast and told
+the waiter to bring whatever there was.  He didn't even observe
+what he was served with, and he spent the evening in the library of
+the establishment, pretending to read an article in an American
+magazine.  He failed to discover what it was about; it appeared in
+a dim way to be about Marian Fancourt.
+
+Quite late in the week she wrote to him that she was not to go into
+the country - it had only just been settled.  Her father, she
+added, would never settle anything, but put it all on her.  She
+felt her responsibility - she had to - and since she was forced
+this was the way she had decided.  She mentioned no reasons, which
+gave our friend all the clearer field for bold conjecture about
+them.  In Manchester Square on this second Sunday he esteemed his
+fortune less good, for she had three or four other visitors.  But
+there were three or four compensations; perhaps the greatest of
+which was that, learning how her father had after all, at the last
+hour, gone out of town alone, the bold conjecture I just now spoke
+of found itself becoming a shade more bold.  And then her presence
+was her presence, and the personal red room was there and was full
+of it, whatever phantoms passed and vanished, emitting
+incomprehensible sounds.  Lastly, he had the resource of staying
+till every one had come and gone and of believing this grateful to
+her, though she gave no particular sign.  When they were alone
+together he came to his point.  "But St. George did come - last
+Sunday.  I saw him as I looked back."
+
+"Yes; but it was the last time."
+
+"The last time?"
+
+"He said he would never come again."
+
+Paul Overt stared.  "Does he mean he wishes to cease to see you?"
+
+"I don't know what he means," the girl bravely smiled.  "He won't
+at any rate see me here."
+
+"And pray why not?"
+
+"I haven't the least idea," said Marian Fancourt, whose visitor
+found her more perversely sublime than ever yet as she professed
+this clear helplessness.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+
+"Oh I say, I want you to stop a little," Henry St. George said to
+him at eleven o'clock the night he dined with the head of the
+profession.  The company - none of it indeed OF the profession -
+had been numerous and was taking its leave; our young man, after
+bidding good-night to his hostess, had put out his hand in farewell
+to the master of the house.  Besides drawing from the latter the
+protest I have cited this movement provoked a further priceless
+word about their chance now to have a talk, their going into his
+room, his having still everything to say.  Paul Overt was all
+delight at this kindness; nevertheless he mentioned in weak jocose
+qualification the bare fact that he had promised to go to another
+place which was at a considerable distance.
+
+"Well then you'll break your promise, that's all.  You quite awful
+humbug!" St. George added in a tone that confirmed our young man's
+ease.
+
+"Certainly I'll break it - but it was a real promise."
+
+"Do you mean to Miss Fancourt?  You're following her?" his friend
+asked.
+
+He answered by a question.  "Oh is SHE going?"
+
+"Base impostor!" his ironic host went on.  "I've treated you
+handsomely on the article of that young lady:  I won't make another
+concession.  Wait three minutes - I'll be with you."  He gave
+himself to his departing guests, accompanied the long-trained
+ladies to the door.  It was a hot night, the windows were open, the
+sound of the quick carriages and of the linkmen's call came into
+the house.  The affair had rather glittered; a sense of festal
+things was in the heavy air:  not only the influence of that
+particular entertainment, but the suggestion of the wide hurry of
+pleasure which in London on summer nights fills so many of the
+happier quarters of the complicated town.  Gradually Mrs. St.
+George's drawing-room emptied itself; Paul was left alone with his
+hostess, to whom he explained the motive of his waiting.  "Ah yes,
+some intellectual, some PROFESSIONAL, talk," she leered; "at this
+season doesn't one miss it?  Poor dear Henry, I'm so glad!"  The
+young man looked out of the window a moment, at the called hansoms
+that lurched up, at the smooth broughams that rolled away.  When he
+turned round Mrs. St. George had disappeared; her husband's voice
+rose to him from below - he was laughing and talking, in the
+portico, with some lady who awaited her carriage.  Paul had
+solitary possession, for some minutes, of the warm deserted rooms
+where the covered tinted lamplight was soft, the seats had been
+pushed about and the odour of flowers lingered.  They were large,
+they were pretty, they contained objects of value; everything in
+the picture told of a "good house."  At the end of five minutes a
+servant came in with a request from the Master that he would join
+him downstairs; upon which, descending, he followed his conductor
+through a long passage to an apartment thrown out, in the rear of
+the habitation, for the special requirements, as he guessed, of a
+busy man of letters.
+
+St. George was in his shirt-sleeves in the middle of a large high
+room - a room without windows, but with a wide skylight at the top,
+that of a place of exhibition.  It was furnished as a library, and
+the serried bookshelves rose to the ceiling, a surface of
+incomparable tone produced by dimly-gilt "backs" interrupted here
+and there by the suspension of old prints and drawings.  At the end
+furthest from the door of admission was a tall desk, of great
+extent, at which the person using it could write only in the erect
+posture of a clerk in a counting-house; and stretched from the
+entrance to this structure was a wide plain band of crimson cloth,
+as straight as a garden-path and almost as long, where, in his
+mind's eye, Paul at once beheld the Master pace to and fro during
+vexed hours - hours, that is, of admirable composition.  The
+servant gave him a coat, an old jacket with a hang of experience,
+from a cupboard in the wall, retiring afterwards with the garment
+he had taken off.  Paul Overt welcomed the coat; it was a coat for
+talk, it promised confidences - having visibly received so many -
+and had tragic literary elbows.  "Ah we're practical - we're
+practical!" St. George said as he saw his visitor look the place
+over.  "Isn't it a good big cage for going round and round?  My
+wife invented it and she locks me up here every morning."
+
+Our young man breathed - by way of tribute - with a certain
+oppression.  "You don't miss a window - a place to look out?"
+
+"I did at first awfully; but her calculation was just.  It saves
+time, it has saved me many months in these ten years.  Here I
+stand, under the eye of day - in London of course, very often, it's
+rather a bleared old eye - walled in to my trade.  I can't get away
+- so the room's a fine lesson in concentration.  I've learnt the
+lesson, I think; look at that big bundle of proof and acknowledge
+it."  He pointed to a fat roll of papers, on one of the tables,
+which had not been undone.
+
+"Are you bringing out another -?" Paul asked in a tone the fond
+deficiencies of which he didn't recognise till his companion burst
+out laughing, and indeed scarce even then.
+
+"You humbug, you humbug!" - St. George appeared to enjoy caressing
+him, as it were, with that opprobrium.  "Don't I know what you
+think of them?" he asked, standing there with his hands in his
+pockets and with a new kind of smile.  It was as if he were going
+to let his young votary see him all now.
+
+"Upon my word in that case you know more than I do!" the latter
+ventured to respond, revealing a part of the torment of being able
+neither clearly to esteem nor distinctly to renounce him.
+
+"My dear fellow," said the more and more interesting Master, "don't
+imagine I talk about my books specifically; they're not a decent
+subject - il ne manquerait plus que ca!  I'm not so bad as you may
+apprehend!  About myself, yes, a little, if you like; though it
+wasn't for that I brought you down here.  I want to ask you
+something - very much indeed; I value this chance.  Therefore sit
+down.  We're practical, but there IS a sofa, you see - for she does
+humour my poor bones so far.  Like all really great administrators
+and disciplinarians she knows when wisely to relax."  Paul sank
+into the corner of a deep leathern couch, but his friend remained
+standing and explanatory.  "If you don't mind, in this room, this
+is my habit.  From the door to the desk and from the desk to the
+door.  That shakes up my imagination gently; and don't you see what
+a good thing it is that there's no window for her to fly out of?
+The eternal standing as I write (I stop at that bureau and put it
+down, when anything comes, and so we go on) was rather wearisome at
+first, but we adopted it with an eye to the long run; you're in
+better order - if your legs don't break down! - and you can keep it
+up for more years.  Oh we're practical - we're practical!" St.
+George repeated, going to the table and taking up all mechanically
+the bundle of proofs.  But, pulling off the wrapper, he had a
+change of attention that appealed afresh to our hero.  He lost
+himself a moment, examining the sheets of his new book, while the
+younger man's eyes wandered over the room again.
+
+"Lord, what good things I should do if I had such a charming place
+as this to do them in!" Paul reflected.  The outer world, the world
+of accident and ugliness, was so successfully excluded, and within
+the rich protecting square, beneath the patronising sky, the dream-
+figures, the summoned company, could hold their particular revel.
+It was a fond prevision of Overt's rather than an observation on
+actual data, for which occasions had been too few, that the Master
+thus more closely viewed would have the quality, the charming gift,
+of flashing out, all surprisingly, in personal intercourse and at
+moments of suspended or perhaps even of diminished expectation.  A
+happy relation with him would be a thing proceeding by jumps, not
+by traceable stages.
+
+"Do you read them - really?" he asked, laying down the proofs on
+Paul's enquiring of him how soon the work would be published.  And
+when the young man answered "Oh yes, always," he was moved to mirth
+again by something he caught in his manner of saying that.  "You go
+to see your grandmother on her birthday - and very proper it is,
+especially as she won't last for ever.  She has lost every faculty
+and every sense; she neither sees, nor hears, nor speaks; but all
+customary pieties and kindly habits are respectable.  Only you're
+strong if you DO read 'em!  I couldn't, my dear fellow.  You are
+strong, I know; and that's just a part of what I wanted to say to
+you.  You're very strong indeed.  I've been going into your other
+things - they've interested me immensely.  Some one ought to have
+told me about them before - some one I could believe.  But whom can
+one believe?  You're wonderfully on the right road - it's awfully
+decent work.  Now do you mean to keep it up? - that's what I want
+to ask you."
+
+"Do I mean to do others?" Paul asked, looking up from his sofa at
+his erect inquisitor and feeling partly like a happy little boy
+when the school-master is gay, and partly like some pilgrim of old
+who might have consulted a world-famous oracle.  St. George's own
+performance had been infirm, but as an adviser he would be
+infallible.
+
+"Others - others?  Ah the number won't matter; one other would do,
+if it were really a further step - a throb of the same effort.
+What I mean is have you it in your heart to go in for some sort of
+decent perfection?"
+
+"Ah decency, ah perfection -!" the young man sincerely sighed.  "I
+talked of them the other Sunday with Miss Fancourt."
+
+It produced on the Master's part a laugh of odd acrimony.  "Yes,
+they'll 'talk' of them as much as you like!  But they'll do little
+to help one to them.  There's no obligation of course; only you
+strike me as capable," he went on.  "You must have thought it all
+over.  I can't believe you're without a plan.  That's the sensation
+you give me, and it's so rare that it really stirs one up - it
+makes you remarkable.  If you haven't a plan, if you DON'T mean to
+keep it up, surely you're within your rights; it's nobody's
+business, no one can force you, and not more than two or three
+people will notice you don't go straight.  The others - ALL the
+rest, every blest soul in England, will think you do - will think
+you are keeping it up:  upon my honour they will!  I shall be one
+of the two or three who know better.  Now the question is whether
+you can do it for two or three.  Is that the stuff you're made of?"
+
+It locked his guest a minute as in closed throbbing arms.  "I could
+do it for one, if you were the one."
+
+"Don't say that; I don't deserve it; it scorches me," he protested
+with eyes suddenly grave and glowing.  "The 'one' is of course
+one's self, one's conscience, one's idea, the singleness of one's
+aim.  I think of that pure spirit as a man thinks of a woman he has
+in some detested hour of his youth loved and forsaken.  She haunts
+him with reproachful eyes, she lives for ever before him.  As an
+artist, you know, I've married for money."  Paul stared and even
+blushed a little, confounded by this avowal; whereupon his host,
+observing the expression of his face, dropped a quick laugh and
+pursued:  "You don't follow my figure.  I'm not speaking of my dear
+wife, who had a small fortune - which, however, was not my bribe.
+I fell in love with her, as many other people have done.  I refer
+to the mercenary muse whom I led to the altar of literature.
+Don't, my boy, put your nose into THAT yoke.  The awful jade will
+lead you a life!"
+
+Our hero watched him, wondering and deeply touched.  "Haven't you
+been happy!"
+
+"Happy?  It's a kind of hell."
+
+"There are things I should like to ask you," Paul said after a
+pause.
+
+"Ask me anything in all the world.  I'd turn myself inside out to
+save you."
+
+"To 'save' me?" he quavered.
+
+"To make you stick to it - to make you see it through.  As I said
+to you the other night at Summersoft, let my example be vivid to
+you."
+
+"Why your books are not so bad as that," said Paul, fairly laughing
+and feeling that if ever a fellow had breathed the air of art - !
+
+"So bad as what?"
+
+"Your talent's so great that it's in everything you do, in what's
+less good as well as in what's best.  You've some forty volumes to
+show for it - forty volumes of wonderful life, of rare observation,
+of magnificent ability."
+
+"I'm very clever, of course I know that" - but it was a thing, in
+fine, this author made nothing of.  "Lord, what rot they'd all be
+if I hadn't been I'm a successful charlatan," he went on - "I've
+been able to pass off my system.  But do you know what it is?  It's
+cartonpierre."
+
+"Carton-pierre?" Paul was struck, and gaped.
+
+"Lincrusta-Walton!"
+
+"Ah don't say such things - you make me bleed!" the younger man
+protested.  "I see you in a beautiful fortunate home, living in
+comfort and honour."
+
+"Do you call it honour?" - his host took him up with an intonation
+that often comes back to him.  "That's what I want YOU to go in
+for.  I mean the real thing.  This is brummagem."
+
+"Brummagem?" Paul ejaculated while his eyes wandered, by a movement
+natural at the moment, over the luxurious room.
+
+"Ah they make it so well to-day - it's wonderfully deceptive!"
+
+Our friend thrilled with the interest and perhaps even more with
+the pity of it.  Yet he wasn't afraid to seem to patronise when he
+could still so far envy.  "Is it deceptive that I find you living
+with every appearance of domestic felicity - blest with a devoted,
+accomplished wife, with children whose acquaintance I haven't yet
+had the pleasure of making, but who MUST be delightful young
+people, from what I know of their parents?"
+
+St. George smiled as for the candour of his question.  "It's all
+excellent, my dear fellow - heaven forbid I should deny it.  I've
+made a great deal of money; my wife has known how to take care of
+it, to use it without wasting it, to put a good bit of it by, to
+make it fructify.  I've got a loaf on the shelf; I've got
+everything in fact but the great thing."
+
+"The great thing?" Paul kept echoing.
+
+"The sense of having done the best - the sense which is the real
+life of the artist and the absence of which is his death, of having
+drawn from his intellectual instrument the finest music that nature
+had hidden in it, of having played it as it should be played.  He
+either does that or he doesn't - and if he doesn't he isn't worth
+speaking of.  Therefore, precisely, those who really know DON'T
+speak of him.  He may still hear a great chatter, but what he hears
+most is the incorruptible silence of Fame.  I've squared her, you
+may say, for my little hour - but what's my little hour?  Don't
+imagine for a moment," the Master pursued, "that I'm such a cad as
+to have brought you down here to abuse or to complain of my wife to
+you.  She's a woman of distinguished qualities, to whom my
+obligations are immense; so that, if you please, we'll say nothing
+about her.  My boys - my children are all boys - are straight and
+strong, thank God, and have no poverty of growth about them, no
+penury of needs.  I receive periodically the most satisfactory
+attestation from Harrow, from Oxford, from Sandhurst - oh we've
+done the best for them! - of their eminence as living thriving
+consuming organisms."
+
+"It must be delightful to feel that the son of one's loins is at
+Sandhurst," Paul remarked enthusiastically.
+
+"It is - it's charming.  Oh I'm a patriot!"
+
+The young man then could but have the greater tribute of questions
+to pay.  "Then what did you mean - the other night at Summersoft -
+by saying that children are a curse?"
+
+"My dear youth, on what basis are we talking?" and St. George
+dropped upon the sofa at a short distance from him.  Sitting a
+little sideways he leaned back against the opposite arm with his
+hands raised and interlocked behind his head.  "On the supposition
+that a certain perfection's possible and even desirable - isn't it
+so?  Well, all I say is that one's children interfere with
+perfection.  One's wife interferes.  Marriage interferes."
+
+"You think then the artist shouldn't marry?"
+
+"He does so at his peril - he does so at his cost."
+
+"Not even when his wife's in sympathy with his work?"
+
+"She never is - she can't be!  Women haven't a conception of such
+things."
+
+"Surely they on occasion work themselves," Paul objected.
+
+"Yes, very badly indeed.  Oh of course, often, they think they
+understand, they think they sympathise.  Then it is they're most
+dangerous.  Their idea is that you shall do a great lot and get a
+great lot of money.  Their great nobleness and virtue, their
+exemplary conscientiousness as British females, is in keeping you
+up to that.  My wife makes all my bargains with my publishers for
+me, and has done so for twenty years.  She does it consummately
+well - that's why I'm really pretty well off.  Aren't you the
+father of their innocent babes, and will you withhold from them
+their natural sustenance?  You asked me the other night if they're
+not an immense incentive.  Of course they are - there's no doubt of
+that!"
+
+Paul turned it over:  it took, from eyes he had never felt open so
+wide, so much looking at.  "For myself I've an idea I need
+incentives."
+
+"Ah well then, n'en parlons plus!" his companion handsomely smiled.
+
+"YOU are an incentive, I maintain," the young man went on.  "You
+don't affect me in the way you'd apparently like to.  Your great
+success is what I see - the pomp of Ennismore Gardens!"
+
+"Success?" - St. George's eyes had a cold fine light.  "Do you call
+it success to be spoken of as you'd speak of me if you were sitting
+here with another artist - a young man intelligent and sincere like
+yourself?  Do you call it success to make you blush - as you would
+blush! - if some foreign critic (some fellow, of course I mean, who
+should know what he was talking about and should have shown you he
+did, as foreign critics like to show it) were to say to you:  'He's
+the one, in this country, whom they consider the most perfect,
+isn't he?'  Is it success to be the occasion of a young
+Englishman's having to stammer as you would have to stammer at such
+a moment for old England?  No, no; success is to have made people
+wriggle to another tune.  Do try it!"
+
+Paul continued all gravely to glow.  "Try what?"
+
+"Try to do some really good work."
+
+"Oh I want to, heaven knows!"
+
+"Well, you can't do it without sacrifices - don't believe that for
+a moment," the Master said.  "I've made none.  I've had everything.
+In other words I've missed everything."
+
+"You've had the full rich masculine human general life, with all
+the responsibilities and duties and burdens and sorrows and joys -
+all the domestic and social initiations and complications.  They
+must be immensely suggestive, immensely amusing," Paul anxiously
+submitted.
+
+"Amusing?"
+
+"For a strong man - yes."
+
+"They've given me subjects without number, if that's what you mean;
+but they've taken away at the same time the power to use them.
+I've touched a thousand things, but which one of them have I turned
+into gold?  The artist has to do only with that - he knows nothing
+of any baser metal.  I've led the life of the world, with my wife
+and my progeny; the clumsy conventional expensive materialised
+vulgarised brutalised life of London.  We've got everything
+handsome, even a carriage - we're perfect Philistines and
+prosperous hospitable eminent people.  But, my dear fellow, don't
+try to stultify yourself and pretend you don't know what we HAVEN'T
+got.  It's bigger than all the rest.  Between artists - come!" the
+Master wound up.  "You know as well as you sit there that you'd put
+a pistol-ball into your brain if you had written my books!"
+
+It struck his listener that the tremendous talk promised by him at
+Summersoft had indeed come off, and with a promptitude, a fulness,
+with which the latter's young imagination had scarcely reckoned.
+His impression fairly shook him and he throbbed with the excitement
+of such deep soundings and such strange confidences.  He throbbed
+indeed with the conflict of his feelings - bewilderment and
+recognition and alarm, enjoyment and protest and assent, all
+commingled with tenderness (and a kind of shame in the
+participation) for the sores and bruises exhibited by so fine a
+creature, and with a sense of the tragic secret nursed under his
+trappings.  The idea of HIS, Paul Overt's, becoming the occasion of
+such an act of humility made him flush and pant, at the same time
+that his consciousness was in certain directions too much alive not
+to swallow -  and not intensely to taste - every offered spoonful
+of the revelation.  It had been his odd fortune to blow upon the
+deep waters, to make them surge and break in waves of strange
+eloquence.  But how couldn't he give out a passionate contradiction
+of his host's last extravagance, how couldn't he enumerate to him
+the parts of his work he loved, the splendid things he had found in
+it, beyond the compass of any other writer of the day?  St. George
+listened a while, courteously; then he said, laying his hand on his
+visitor's:  "That's all very well; and if your idea's to do nothing
+better there's no reason you shouldn't have as many good things as
+I - as many human and material appendages, as many sons or
+daughters, a wife with as many gowns, a house with as many
+servants, a stable with as many horses, a heart with as many
+aches."  The Master got up when he had spoken thus - he stood a
+moment - near the sofa looking down on his agitated pupil.  "Are
+you possessed of any property?" it occurred to him to ask.
+
+"None to speak of."
+
+"Oh well then there's no reason why you shouldn't make a goodish
+income - if you set about it the right way.  Study ME for that -
+study me well.  You may really have horses."
+
+Paul sat there some minutes without speaking.  He looked straight
+before him -  he turned over many things.  His friend had wandered
+away, taking up a parcel of letters from the table where the roll
+of proofs had lain.  "What was the book Mrs. St. George made you
+burn - the one she didn't like?" our young man brought out.
+
+"The book she made me burn - how did you know that?"  The Master
+looked up from his letters quite without the facial convulsion the
+pupil had feared.
+
+"I heard her speak of it at Summersoft."
+
+"Ah yes - she's proud of it.  I don't know - it was rather good."
+
+"What was it about?"
+
+"Let me see."  And he seemed to make an effort to remember.  "Oh
+yes - it was about myself."  Paul gave an irrepressible groan for
+the disappearance of such a production, and the elder man went on:
+"Oh but YOU should write it - YOU should do me."  And he pulled up
+- from the restless motion that had come upon him; his fine smile a
+generous glare.  "There's a subject, my boy:  no end of stuff in
+it!"
+
+Again Paul was silent, but it was all tormenting.  "Are there no
+women who really understand - who can take part in a sacrifice?"
+
+"How can they take part?  They themselves are the sacrifice.
+They're the idol and the altar and the flame."
+
+"Isn't there even ONE who sees further?" Paul continued.
+
+For a moment St. George made no answer; after which, having torn up
+his letters, he came back to the point all ironic.  "Of course I
+know the one you mean.  But not even Miss Fancourt."
+
+"I thought you admired her so much."
+
+"It's impossible to admire her more.  Are you in love with her?"
+St. George asked.
+
+"Yes," Paul Overt presently said.
+
+"Well then give it up."
+
+Paul stared.  "Give up my 'love'?"
+
+"Bless me, no.  Your idea."  And then as our hero but still gazed:
+"The one you talked with her about.  The idea of a decent
+perfection."
+
+"She'd help it - she'd help it!" the young man cried.
+
+"For about a year - the first year, yes.  After that she'd be as a
+millstone round its neck."
+
+Paul frankly wondered.  "Why she has a passion for the real thing,
+for good work - for everything you and I care for most."
+
+"'You and I' is charming, my dear fellow!" his friend laughed.
+"She has it indeed, but she'd have a still greater passion for her
+children - and very proper too.  She'd insist on everything's being
+made comfortable, advantageous, propitious for them.  That isn't
+the artist's business."
+
+"The artist - the artist!  Isn't he a man all the same?"
+
+St. George had a grand grimace.  "I mostly think not.  You know as
+well as I what he has to do:  the concentration, the finish, the
+independence he must strive for from the moment he begins to wish
+his work really decent.  Ah my young friend, his relation to women,
+and especially to the one he's most intimately concerned with, is
+at the mercy of the damning fact that whereas he can in the nature
+of things have but one standard, they have about fifty.  That's
+what makes them so superior," St. George amusingly added.  "Fancy
+an artist with a change of standards as you'd have a change of
+shirts or of dinner-plates.  To DO it - to do it and make it divine
+- is the only thing he has to think about.  'Is it done or not?' is
+his only question.  Not 'Is it done as well as a proper solicitude
+for my dear little family will allow?'  He has nothing to do with
+the relative -  he has only to do with the absolute; and a dear
+little family may represent a dozen relatives."
+
+"Then you don't allow him the common passions and affections of
+men?" Paul asked.
+
+"Hasn't he a passion, an affection, which includes all the rest?
+Besides, let him have all the passions he likes - if he only keeps
+his independence.  He must be able to be poor."
+
+Paul slowly got up.  "Why then did you advise me to make up to
+her?"
+
+St. George laid his hand on his shoulder.  "Because she'd make a
+splendid wife!  And I hadn't read you then."
+
+The young man had a strained smile.  "I wish you had left me
+alone!"
+
+"I didn't know that that wasn't good enough for you," his host
+returned.
+
+"What a false position, what a condemnation of the artist, that
+he's a mere disfranchised monk and can produce his effect only by
+giving up personal happiness.  What an arraignment of art!" Paul
+went on with a trembling voice.
+
+"Ah you don't imagine by chance that I'm defending art?
+'Arraignment' - I should think so!  Happy the societies in which it
+hasn't made its appearance, for from the moment it comes they have
+a consuming ache, they have an incurable corruption, in their
+breast.  Most assuredly is the artist in a false position!  But I
+thought we were taking him for granted.  Pardon me," St. George
+continued:  "'Ginistrella' made me!"
+
+Paul stood looking at the floor - one o'clock struck, in the
+stillness, from a neighbouring church-tower.  "Do you think she'd
+ever look at me?" he put to his friend at last.
+
+"Miss Fancourt - as a suitor?  Why shouldn't I think it?  That's
+why I've tried to favour you - I've had a little chance or two of
+bettering your opportunity."
+
+"Forgive my asking you, but do you mean by keeping away yourself?"
+Paul said with a blush.
+
+"I'm an old idiot - my place isn't there," St. George stated
+gravely.
+
+"I'm nothing yet, I've no fortune; and there must be so many
+others," his companion pursued.
+
+The Master took this considerably in, but made little of it.
+"You're a gentleman and a man of genius.  I think you might do
+something."
+
+"But if I must give that up - the genius?"
+
+"Lots of people, you know, think I've kept mine," St. George
+wonderfully grinned.
+
+"You've a genius for mystification!" Paul declared; but grasping
+his hand gratefully in attenuation of this judgement.
+
+"Poor dear boy, I do worry you!  But try, try, all the same.  I
+think your chances are good and you'll win a great prize."
+
+Paul held fast the other's hand a minute; he looked into the
+strange deep face.  "No, I AM an artist - I can't help it!"
+
+"Ah show it then!" St. George pleadingly broke out.  "Let me see
+before I die the thing I most want, the thing I yearn for:  a life
+in which the passion - ours - is really intense.  If you can be
+rare don't fail of it!  Think what it is - how it counts - how it
+lives!"
+
+They had moved to the door and he had closed both his hands over
+his companion's.  Here they paused again and our hero breathed
+deep.  "I want to live!"
+
+"In what sense?"
+
+"In the greatest."
+
+"Well then stick to it - see it through."
+
+"With your sympathy - your help?"
+
+"Count on that - you'll be a great figure to me.  Count on my
+highest appreciation, my devotion.  You'll give me satisfaction -
+if that has any weight with you."  After which, as Paul appeared
+still to waver, his host added:  "Do you remember what you said to
+me at Summersoft?"
+
+"Something infatuated, no doubt!"
+
+"'I'll do anything in the world you tell me.'  You said that."
+
+"And you hold me to it?"
+
+"Ah what am I?" the Master expressively sighed.
+
+"Lord, what things I shall have to do!" Paul almost moaned as be
+departed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+
+"It goes on too much abroad - hang abroad!"  These or something
+like them had been the Master's remarkable words in relation to the
+action of "Ginistrella"; and yet, though they had made a sharp
+impression on the author of that work, like almost all spoken words
+from the same source, he a week after the conversation I have noted
+left England for a long absence and full of brave intentions.  It
+is not a perversion of the truth to pronounce that encounter the
+direct cause of his departure.  If the oral utterance of the
+eminent writer had the privilege of moving him deeply it was
+especially on his turning it over at leisure, hours and days later,
+that it appeared to yield him its full meaning and exhibit its
+extreme importance.  He spent the summer in Switzerland and, having
+in September begun a new task, determined not to cross the Alps
+till he should have made a good start.  To this end he returned to
+a quiet corner he knew well, on the edge of the Lake of Geneva and
+within sight of the towers of Chillon:  a region and a view for
+which he had an affection that sprang from old associations and was
+capable of mysterious revivals and refreshments.  Here he lingered
+late, till the snow was on the nearer hills, almost down to the
+limit to which he could climb when his stint, on the shortening
+afternoons, was performed.  The autumn was fine, the lake was blue
+and his book took form and direction.  These felicities, for the
+time, embroidered his life, which he suffered to cover him with its
+mantle.  At the end of six weeks he felt he had learnt St. George's
+lesson by heart, had tested and proved its doctrine.  Nevertheless
+he did a very inconsistent thing:  before crossing the Alps he
+wrote to Marian Fancourt.  He was aware of the perversity of this
+act, and it was only as a luxury, an amusement, the reward of a
+strenuous autumn, that he justified it.  She had asked of him no
+such favour when, shortly before he left London, three days after
+their dinner in Ennismore Gardens, he went to take leave of her.
+It was true she had had no ground - he hadn't named his intention
+of absence.  He had kept his counsel for want of due assurance:  it
+was that particular visit that was, the next thing, to settle the
+matter.  He had paid the visit to see how much he really cared for
+her, and quick departure, without so much as an explicit farewell,
+was the sequel to this enquiry, the answer to which had created
+within him a deep yearning.  When he wrote her from Clarens he
+noted that he owed her an explanation (more than three months
+after!) for not having told her what he was doing.
+
+She replied now briefly but promptly, and gave him a striking piece
+of news:  that of the death, a week before, of Mrs. St. George.
+This exemplary woman had succumbed, in the country, to a violent
+attack of inflammation of the lungs - he would remember that for a
+long time she had been delicate.  Miss Fancourt added that she
+believed her husband overwhelmed by the blow; he would miss her too
+terribly - she had been everything in life to him.  Paul Overt, on
+this, immediately wrote to St. George.  He would from the day of
+their parting have been glad to remain in communication with him,
+but had hitherto lacked the right excuse for troubling so busy a
+man.  Their long nocturnal talk came back to him in every detail,
+but this was no bar to an expression of proper sympathy with the
+head of the profession, for hadn't that very talk made it clear
+that the late accomplished lady was the influence that ruled his
+life?  What catastrophe could be more cruel than the extinction of
+such an influence?  This was to be exactly the tone taken by St.
+George in answering his young friend upwards of a month later.  He
+made no allusion of course to their important discussion.  He spoke
+of his wife as frankly and generously as if he had quite forgotten
+that occasion, and the feeling of deep bereavement was visible in
+his words.  "She took everything off my hands - off my mind.  She
+carried on our life with the greatest art, the rarest devotion, and
+I was free, as few men can have been, to drive my pen, to shut
+myself up with my trade.  This was a rare service - the highest she
+could have rendered me.  Would I could have acknowledged it more
+fitly!"
+
+A certain bewilderment, for our hero, disengaged itself from these
+remarks:  they struck him as a contradiction, a retractation,
+strange on the part of a man who hadn't the excuse of witlessness.
+He had certainly not expected his correspondent to rejoice in the
+death of his wife, and it was perfectly in order that the rupture
+of a tie of more than twenty years should have left him sore.  But
+if she had been so clear a blessing what in the name of consistency
+had the dear man meant by turning him upside down that night - by
+dosing him to that degree, at the most sensitive hour of his life,
+with the doctrine of renunciation?  If Mrs. St. George was an
+irreparable loss, then her husband's inspired advice had been a bad
+joke and renunciation was a mistake.  Overt was on the point of
+rushing back to London to show that, for his part, he was perfectly
+willing to consider it so, and he went so far as to take the
+manuscript of the first chapters of his new book out of his table-
+drawer, to insert it into a pocket of his portmanteau.  This led to
+his catching a glimpse of certain pages he hadn't looked at for
+months, and that accident, in turn, to his being struck with the
+high promise they revealed - a rare result of such retrospections,
+which it was his habit to avoid as much as possible:  they usually
+brought home to him that the glow of composition might be a purely
+subjective and misleading emotion.  On this occasion a certain
+belief in himself disengaged itself whimsically from the serried
+erasures of his first draft, making him think it best after all to
+pursue his present trial to the end.  If he could write as well
+under the rigour of privation it might be a mistake to change the
+conditions before that spell had spent itself.  He would go back to
+London of course, but he would go back only when he should have
+finished his book.  This was the vow he privately made, restoring
+his manuscript to the table-drawer.  It may be added that it took
+him a long time to finish his book, for the subject was as
+difficult as it was fine, and he was literally embarrassed by the
+fulness of his notes.  Something within him warned him that he must
+make it supremely good - otherwise he should lack, as regards his
+private behaviour, a handsome excuse.  He had a horror of this
+deficiency and found himself as firm as need be on the question of
+the lamp and the file.  He crossed the Alps at last and spent the
+winter, the spring, the ensuing summer, in Italy, where still, at
+the end of a twelvemonth, his task was unachieved.  "Stick to it -
+see it through":  this general injunction of St. George's was good
+also for the particular case.  He applied it to the utmost, with
+the result that when in its slow order the summer had come round
+again he felt he had given all that was in him.  This time he put
+his papers into his portmanteau, with the address of his publisher
+attached, and took his way northward.
+
+He had been absent from London for two years - two years which,
+seeming to count as more, had made such a difference in his own
+life - through the production of a novel far stronger, he believed,
+than "Ginistrella" - that he turned out into Piccadilly, the
+morning after his arrival, with a vague expectation of changes, of
+finding great things had happened.  But there were few
+transformations in Piccadilly - only three or four big red houses
+where there had been low black ones - and the brightness of the end
+of June peeped through the rusty railings of the Green Park and
+glittered in the varnish of the rolling carriages as he had seen it
+in other, more cursory Junes.  It was a greeting he appreciated; it
+seemed friendly and pointed, added to the exhilaration of his
+finished book, of his having his own country and the huge
+oppressive amusing city that suggested everything, that contained
+everything, under his hand again.  "Stay at home and do things here
+- do subjects we can measure," St. George had said; and now it
+struck him he should ask nothing better than to stay at home for
+ever.  Late in the afternoon he took his way to Manchester Square,
+looking out for a number he hadn't forgotten.  Miss Fancourt,
+however, was not at home, so that he turned rather dejectedly from
+the door.  His movement brought him face to face with a gentleman
+just approaching it and recognised on another glance as Miss
+Fancourt's father.  Paul saluted this personage, and the General
+returned the greeting with his customary good manner - a manner so
+good, however, that you could never tell whether it meant he placed
+you.  The disappointed caller felt the impulse to address him;
+then, hesitating, became both aware of having no particular remark
+to make, and convinced that though the old soldier remembered him
+he remembered him wrong.  He therefore went his way without
+computing the irresistible effect his own evident recognition would
+have on the General, who never neglected a chance to gossip.  Our
+young man's face was expressive, and observation seldom let it
+pass.  He hadn't taken ten steps before he heard himself called
+after with a friendly semi-articulate "Er - I beg your pardon!"  He
+turned round and the General, smiling at him from the porch, said:
+"Won't you come in?  I won't leave you the advantage of me!"  Paul
+declined to come in, and then felt regret, for Miss Fancourt, so
+late in the afternoon, might return at any moment.  But her father
+gave him no second chance; he appeared mainly to wish not to have
+struck him as ungracious.  A further look at the visitor had
+recalled something, enough at least to enable him to say:  "You've
+come back, you've come back?"  Paul was on the point of replying
+that he had come back the night before, but he suppressed, the next
+instant, this strong light on the immediacy of his visit and,
+giving merely a general assent, alluded to the young lady he
+deplored not having found.  He had come late in the hope she would
+be in.  "I'll tell her - I'll tell her," said the old man; and then
+he added quickly, gallantly:  "You'll be giving us something new?
+It's a long time, isn't it?"  Now he remembered him right.
+
+"Rather long.  I'm very slow." Paul explained.  "I met you at
+Summersoft a long time ago."
+
+"Oh yes - with Henry St. George.  I remember very well.  Before his
+poor wife - " General Fancourt paused a moment, smiling a little
+less.  "I dare say you know."
+
+"About Mrs. St. George's death?  Certainly - I heard at the time."
+
+"Oh no, I mean - I mean he's to be married."
+
+"Ah I've not heard that!"  But just as Paul was about to add "To
+whom?" the General crossed his intention.
+
+"When did you come back?  I know you've been away - by my daughter.
+She was very sorry.  You ought to give her something new."
+
+"I came back last night," said our young man, to whom something had
+occurred which made his speech for the moment a little thick.
+
+"Ah most kind of you to come so soon.  Couldn't you turn up at
+dinner?"
+
+"At dinner?" Paul just mechanically repeated, not liking to ask
+whom St. George was going to marry, but thinking only of that.
+
+"There are several people, I believe.  Certainly St. George.  Or
+afterwards if you like better.  I believe my daughter expects - "
+He appeared to notice something in the visitor's raised face (on
+his steps he stood higher) which led him to interrupt himself, and
+the interruption gave him a momentary sense of awkwardness, from
+which he sought a quick issue.  "Perhaps then you haven't heard
+she's to be married."
+
+Paul gaped again.  "To be married?"
+
+"To Mr. St. George - it has just been settled.  Odd marriage, isn't
+it?"  Our listener uttered no opinion on this point:  he only
+continued to stare.  "But I dare say it will do - she's so awfully
+literary!" said the General.
+
+Paul had turned very red.  "Oh it's a surprise - very interesting,
+very charming!  I'm afraid I can't dine - so many thanks!"
+
+"Well, you must come to the wedding!" cried the General.  "Oh I
+remember that day at Summersoft.  He's a great man, you know."
+
+"Charming - charming!" Paul stammered for retreat.  He shook hands
+with the General and got off.  His face was red and he had the
+sense of its growing more and more crimson.  All the evening at
+home - he went straight to his rooms and remained there dinnerless
+- his cheek burned at intervals as if it had been smitten.  He
+didn't understand what had happened to him, what trick had been
+played him, what treachery practised.  "None, none," he said to
+himself.  "I've nothing to do with it.  I'm out of it - it s none
+of my business."  But that bewildered murmur was followed again and
+again by the incongruous ejaculation:  "Was it a plan - was it a
+plan?"  Sometimes he cried to himself, breathless, "Have I been
+duped, sold, swindled?"  If at all, he was an absurd, an abject
+victim.  It was as if he hadn't lost her till now.  He had
+renounced her, yes; but that was another affair - that was a closed
+but not a locked door.  Now he seemed to see the door quite slammed
+in his face.  Did he expect her to wait - was she to give him his
+time like that:  two years at a stretch?  He didn't know what he
+had expected - he only knew what he hadn't.  It wasn't this - it
+wasn't this.  Mystification bitterness and wrath rose and boiled in
+him when he thought of the deference, the devotion, the credulity
+with which he had listened to St. George.  The evening wore on and
+the light was long; but even when it had darkened he remained
+without a lamp.  He had flung himself on the sofa, where he lay
+through the hours with his eyes either closed or gazing at the
+gloom, in the attitude of a man teaching himself to bear something,
+to bear having been made a fool of.  He had made it too easy - that
+idea passed over him like a hot wave.  Suddenly, as he heard eleven
+o'clock strike, he jumped up, remembering what General Fancourt had
+said about his coming after dinner.  He'd go - he'd see her at
+least; perhaps he should see what it meant.  He felt as if some of
+the elements of a hard sum had been given him and the others were
+wanting:  he couldn't do his sum till he had got all his figures.
+
+He dressed and drove quickly, so that by half-past eleven he was at
+Manchester Square.  There were a good many carriages at the door -
+a party was going on; a circumstance which at the last gave him a
+slight relief, for now he would rather see her in a crowd.  People
+passed him on the staircase; they were going away, going "on" with
+the hunted herdlike movement of London society at night.  But
+sundry groups remained in the drawing-room, and it was some
+minutes, as she didn't hear him announced, before he discovered and
+spoke to her.  In this short interval he had seen St. George
+talking to a lady before the fireplace; but he at once looked away,
+feeling unready for an encounter, and therefore couldn't be sure
+the author of "Shadowmere" noticed him.  At all events he didn't
+come over though Miss Fancourt did as soon as she saw him - she
+almost rushed at him, smiling rustling radiant beautiful.  He had
+forgotten what her head, what her face offered to the sight; she
+was in white, there were gold figures on her dress and her hair was
+a casque of gold.  He saw in a single moment that she was happy,
+happy with an aggressive splendour.  But she wouldn't speak to him
+of that, she would speak only of himself.
+
+"I'm so delighted; my father told me.  How kind of you to come!"
+She struck him as so fresh and brave, while his eyes moved over
+her, that he said to himself irresistibly:  "Why to him, why not to
+youth, to strength, to ambition, to a future?  Why, in her rich
+young force, to failure, to abdication to superannuation?"  In his
+thought at that sharp moment he blasphemed even against all that
+had been left of his faith in the peccable Master.  "I'm so sorry I
+missed you," she went on.  "My father told me.  How charming of you
+to have come so soon!"
+
+"Does that surprise you?" Paul Overt asked.
+
+"The first day?  No, from you - nothing that's nice."  She was
+interrupted by a lady who bade her good-night, and he seemed to
+read that it cost her nothing to speak to him in that tone; it was
+her old liberal lavish way, with a certain added amplitude that
+time had brought; and if this manner began to operate on the spot,
+at such a juncture in her history, perhaps in the other days too it
+had meant just as little or as much - a mere mechanical charity,
+with the difference now that she was satisfied, ready to give but
+in want of nothing.  Oh she was satisfied - and why shouldn't she
+be?  Why shouldn't she have been surprised at his coming the first
+day - for all the good she had ever got from him?  As the lady
+continued to hold her attention Paul turned from her with a strange
+irritation in his complicated artistic soul and a sort of
+disinterested disappointment.  She was so happy that it was almost
+stupid - a disproof of the extraordinary intelligence he had
+formerly found in her.  Didn't she know how bad St. George could
+be, hadn't she recognised the awful thinness -?  If she didn't she
+was nothing, and if she did why such an insolence of serenity?
+This question expired as our young man's eyes settled at last on
+the genius who had advised him in a great crisis.  St. George was
+still before the chimney-piece, but now he was alone - fixed,
+waiting, as if he meant to stop after every one - and he met the
+clouded gaze of the young friend so troubled as to the degree of
+his right (the right his resentment would have enjoyed) to regard
+himself as a victim.  Somehow the ravage of the question was
+checked by the Master's radiance.  It was as fine in its way as
+Marian Fancourt's, it denoted the happy human being; but also it
+represented to Paul Overt that the author of "Shadowmere" had now
+definitely ceased to count - ceased to count as a writer.  As he
+smiled a welcome across the place he was almost banal, was almost
+smug.  Paul fancied that for a moment he hesitated to make a
+movement, as if for all the world he HAD his bad conscience; then
+they had already met in the middle of the room and had shaken hands
+- expressively, cordially on St. George's part.  With which they
+had passed back together to where the elder man had been standing,
+while St. George said:  "I hope you're never going away again.
+I've been dining here; the General told me."  He was handsome, he
+was young, he looked as if he had still a great fund of life.  He
+bent the friendliest, most unconfessing eyes on his disciple of a
+couple of years before; asked him about everything, his health, his
+plans, his late occupations, the new book.  "When will it be out -
+soon, soon, I hope?  Splendid, eh?  That's right; you're a comfort,
+you're a luxury!  I've read you all over again these last six
+months."  Paul waited to see if he would tell him what the General
+had told him in the afternoon and what Miss Fancourt, verbally at
+least, of course hadn't.  But as it didn't come out he at last put
+the question.
+
+"Is it true, the great news I hear - that you're to be married?"
+
+"Ah you have heard it then?"
+
+"Didn't the General tell you?" Paul asked.
+
+The Master's face was wonderful.  "Tell me what?"
+
+"That he mentioned it to me this afternoon?"
+
+"My dear fellow, I don't remember.  We've been in the midst of
+people.  I'm sorry, in that case, that I lose the pleasure, myself,
+of announcing to you a fact that touches me so nearly.  It IS a
+fact, strange as it may appear.  It has only just become one.
+Isn't it ridiculous?"  St. George made this speech without
+confusion, but on the other hand, so far as our friend could judge,
+without latent impudence.  It struck his interlocutor that, to talk
+so comfortably and coolly, he must simply have forgotten what had
+passed between them.  His next words, however, showed he hadn't,
+and they produced, as an appeal to Paul's own memory, an effect
+which would have been ludicrous if it hadn't been cruel.  "Do you
+recall the talk we had at my house that night, into which Miss
+Fancourt's name entered?  I've often thought of it since."
+
+"Yes; no wonder you said what you did" - Paul was careful to meet
+his eyes.
+
+"In the light of the present occasion?  Ah but there was no light
+then.  How could I have foreseen this hour?"
+
+"Didn't you think it probable?"
+
+"Upon my honour, no," said Henry St. George.  "Certainly I owe you
+that assurance.  Think how my situation has changed."
+
+"I see - I see," our young man murmured.
+
+His companion went on as if, now that the subject had been
+broached, he was, as a person of imagination and tact, quite ready
+to give every satisfaction - being both by his genius and his
+method so able to enter into everything another might feel.  "But
+it's not only that; for honestly, at my age, I never dreamed - a
+widower with big boys and with so little else!  It has turned out
+differently from anything one could have dreamed, and I'm fortunate
+beyond all measure.  She has been so free, and yet she consents.
+Better than any one else perhaps - for I remember how you liked her
+before you went away, and how she liked you - you can intelligently
+congratulate me."
+
+"She has been so free!"  Those words made a great impression on
+Paul Overt, and he almost writhed under that irony in them as to
+which it so little mattered whether it was designed or casual.  Of
+course she had been free, and appreciably perhaps by his own act;
+for wasn't the Master's allusion to her having liked him a part of
+the irony too?  "I thought that by your theory you disapproved of a
+writer's marrying."
+
+"Surely - surely.  But you don't call me a writer?"
+
+"You ought to be ashamed," said Paul.
+
+"Ashamed of marrying again?"
+
+"I won't say that - but ashamed of your reasons."
+
+The elder man beautifully smiled.  "You must let me judge of them,
+my good friend."
+
+"Yes; why not?  For you judged wonderfully of mine."
+
+The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for St. George, to
+suggest the unsuspected.  He stared as if divining a bitterness.
+"Don't you think I've been straight?"
+
+"You might have told me at the time perhaps."
+
+"My dear fellow, when I say I couldn't pierce futurity -!"
+
+"I mean afterwards."
+
+The Master wondered.  "After my wife's death?"
+
+"When this idea came to you."
+
+"Ah never, never!  I wanted to save you, rare and precious as you
+are."
+
+Poor Overt looked hard at him.  "Are you marrying Miss Fancourt to
+save me?"
+
+"Not absolutely, but it adds to the pleasure.  I shall be the
+making of you," St. George smiled.  "I was greatly struck, after
+our talk, with the brave devoted way you quitted the country, and
+still more perhaps with your force of character in remaining
+abroad.  You're very strong - you're wonderfully strong."
+
+Paul tried to sound his shining eyes; the strange thing was that he
+seemed sincere - not a mocking fiend.  He turned away, and as he
+did so heard the Master say something about his giving them all the
+proof, being the joy of his old age.  He faced him again, taking
+another look.  "Do you mean to say you've stopped writing?"
+
+"My dear fellow, of course I have.  It's too late.  Didn't I tell
+you?"
+
+"I can't believe it!"
+
+"Of course you can't - with your own talent!  No, no; for the rest
+of my life I shall only read YOU."
+
+"Does she know that - Miss Fancourt?"
+
+"She will - she will."  Did he mean this, our young man wondered,
+as a covert intimation that the assistance he should derive from
+that young lady's fortune, moderate as it was, would make the
+difference of putting it in his power to cease to work ungratefully
+an exhausted vein?  Somehow, standing there in the ripeness of his
+successful manhood, he didn't suggest that any of his veins were
+exhausted.  "Don't you remember the moral I offered myself to you
+that night as pointing?" St. George continued.  "Consider at any
+rate the warning I am at present."
+
+This was too much - he WAS the mocking fiend.  Paul turned from him
+with a mere nod for goodnight and the sense in a sore heart that he
+might come back to him and his easy grace, his fine way of
+arranging things, some time in the far future, but couldn't
+fraternise with him now.  It was necessary to his soreness to
+believe for the hour in the intensity of his grievance - all the
+more cruel for its not being a legal one.  It was doubtless in the
+attitude of hugging this wrong that he descended the stairs without
+taking leave of Miss Fancourt, who hadn't been in view at the
+moment he quitted the room.  He was glad to get out into the honest
+dusky unsophisticating night, to move fast, to take his way home on
+foot.  He walked a long time, going astray, paying no attention.
+He was thinking of too many other things.  His steps recovered
+their direction, however, and at the end of an hour he found
+himself before his door in the small inexpensive empty street.  He
+lingered, questioning himself still before going in, with nothing
+around and above him but moonless blackness, a bad lamp or two and
+a few far-away dim stars.  To these last faint features he raised
+his eyes; he had been saying to himself that he should have been
+"sold" indeed, diabolically sold, if now, on his new foundation, at
+the end of a year, St. George were to put forth something of his
+prime quality - something of the type of "Shadowmere" and finer
+than his finest.  Greatly as he admired his talent Paul literally
+hoped such an incident wouldn't occur; it seemed to him just then
+that he shouldn't be able to bear it.  His late adviser's words
+were still in his ears - "You're very strong, wonderfully strong."
+Was he really?  Certainly he would have to be, and it might a
+little serve for revenge.  IS he? the reader may ask in turn, if
+his interest has followed the perplexed young man so far.  The best
+answer to that perhaps is that he's doing his best, but that it's
+too soon to say.  When the new book came out in the autumn Mr. and
+Mrs. St. George found it really magnificent.  The former still has
+published nothing but Paul doesn't even yet feel safe.  I may say
+for him, however, that if this event were to occur he would really
+be the very first to appreciate it:  which is perhaps a proof that
+the Master was essentially right and that Nature had dedicated him
+to intellectual, not to personal passion.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Lesson of the Master by James
+
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