literary, you know--quite fantastically!" I remember his saying of
her that she felt in italics and thought in capitals. "Oh when
I've run him to earth," he also said, "then, you know, I shall
knock at his door. Rather--I beg you to believe. I'll have it
from his own lips: 'Right you are, my boy; you've done it this
time!' He shall crown me victor--with the critical laurel."

Meanwhile he really avoided the chances London life might have
given him of meeting the distinguished novelist; a danger, however,
that disappeared with Vereker's leaving England for an indefinite
absence, as the newspapers announced--going to the south for
motives connected with the health of his wife, which had long kept
her in retirement. A year--more than a year--had elapsed since the
incident at Bridges, but I had had no further sight of him. I
think I was at bottom rather ashamed--I hated to remind him that,
though I had irremediably missed his point, a reputation for
acuteness was rapidly overtaking me. This scruple led me a dance;
kept me out of Lady Jane's house, made me even decline, when in
spite of my bad manners she was a second time so good as to make me
a sign, an invitation to her beautiful seat. I once became aware
of her under Vereker's escort at a concert, and was sure I was seen
by them, but I slipped out without being caught. I felt, as on
that occasion I splashed along in the rain, that I couldn't have
done anything else; and yet I remember saying to myself that it was
hard, was even cruel. Not only had I lost the books, but I had
lost the man himself: they and their author had been alike spoiled
for me. I knew too which was the loss I most regretted. I had
taken to the man still more than I had ever taken to the books.