He is one of the men I heartily like. That he greatly cares for me I do
not suppose, but this has nothing to do with the matter; enough that he
likes my society well enough to make a special journey down into Devon. I
represent to him, of course, the days gone by, and for their sake he will
always feel an interest in me. Being ten years my junior, he must
naturally regard me as an old buffer; I notice, indeed, that he is just a
little too deferential at moments. He feels a certain respect for some
of my work, but thinks, I am sure, that I ceased writing none too
soon--which is very true. If I had not been such a lucky fellow--if at
this moment I were still toiling for bread--it is probable that he and I
would see each other very seldom; for N--- has delicacy, and would shrink
from bringing his high-spirited affluence face to face with Grub Street
squalor and gloom; whilst I, on the other hand, should hate to think that
he kept up my acquaintance from a sense of decency. As it is we are very
good friends, quite unembarrassed, and--for a couple of days--really
enjoy the sight and hearing of each other. That I am able to give him a
comfortable bedroom, and set before him an eatable dinner, flatters my
pride. If I chose at any time to accept his hearty invitation, I can do
so without moral twinges.

Two thousand pounds! If, at N---'s age, I had achieved that income, what
would have been the result upon me? Nothing but good, I know; but what
form would the good have taken? Should I have become a social man, a
giver of dinners, a member of clubs? Or should I merely have begun, ten
years sooner, the life I am living now? That is more likely.

In my twenties I used to say to myself: what a splendid thing it will be
_when_ I am the possessor of a thousand pounds! Well, I have never
possessed that sum--never anything like it--and now never shall. Yet it
was not an extravagant ambition, methinks, however primitive.